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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499806">Uncanny X-Men: Hunger</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidanFrankenstein/pseuds/AidanFrankenstein'>AidanFrankenstein</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men (Comicverse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Plot, F/M, Polyamory, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Trans, Trans Male Character, Trans Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:15:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidanFrankenstein/pseuds/AidanFrankenstein</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>AU featuring James Howlett (Wolverine) as a young transgender man who recently escaped the Weapon X program and is now struggling to fit into his new role as an X-Man. As he seeks to reconcile his identity, grasp what happened in his cloudy past, and determine what he wants to do with his future, he also finds himself in conflict with his love and lust for two of his teammates. In the bigger picture, a charismatic militant terrorist works to stoke anti-mutant fires throughout the nation, and James must decide whether he is able to put aside his own desires for something larger than himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Howlett/Jean Grey, James Howlett/Psylocke, Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Psylocke/Jean Grey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>While I'm happy enough to trim a great deal of fat away from Wolverine's canon backstory to make the James Howlett identity fit my needs, I also have a clear vision in my head of my universe fitting seamlessly into the 1990s post-Claremont X-Men comics with art by Jim Lee and Andy Kubert, and stories by Scott Lobdell and Fabian Nicieza--the X books that I grew up with and truly loved. I like getting to use the characters I loved as a kid to explore more mature themes that relate to my adult life: transmasc identity and sexuality, bdsm kink, polyamory, and social justice for example. What started as just an exercise and an excuse to write some porn has become something meatier, and I'm really enjoying spending time with my interpretation of these characters and discovering what is going to happen to them next. Thanks for reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:<br/>
</em><em>To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.<br/>
</em><em>To know the pain of too much tenderness.<br/>
</em><em>To be wounded by your own understanding of love;<br/>
</em><em>And to bleed willingly and joyfully.<br/>
</em>—Kahlil Gibran</p><p><em>Desire, she eats you up<br/>
</em>—Sleater-Kinney</p><p>Three weeks post-op: James Howlett looked admiringly in the locker room’s mirror at the scars underscoring each of his pecs; they were still a little puckered and shiny but they were fading rapidly and would soon be invisible altogether as his healing factor kept working. The surgeon had advised him against strenuous workouts until he was fully healed (<em>“Mutant or not, it’s still a major operation.”</em>), and James had followed orders—for the first week. This morning he’d run an old-school Danger Room obstacle course—complete with flamethrowers, compressing walls, and laser-armed robots—five times in a row and finally beat his record by nearly six seconds. His chest hurt fiercely, but he was starting to see strong muscle definition growing. <em>So</em>, he decided as he felt the freshly-torn muscles around the surgical site knitting together again, <em>pain’s worth something after all</em>.</p><p>He put on a tank top and sat down on the locker room bench to do his injection, pulling the leg of his boxers out of the way. As he was drawing the testosterone into the syringe, he smelled the warm drift of gardenias, the faintest hint of patchouli. His heart involuntarily started racing.</p><p>“Hi, Jean,” he said in feigned casualness, before sticking the needle deep into the meat of his thigh and pressing the plunger home.</p><p>“I can’t ever sneak up on you, can I?” The tall redhead leaned her hip against the locker bank in front of him, arms crossed over her chest.</p><p>“Don’t know why you’d want to.” James pulled the needle out and re-capped it. The small bead of blood that welled out of the puncture mark was the only indication of the injection. When he wiped it clean, the skin had already closed. “Besides,” he continued as he stood and pulled his joggers up and knotted the drawstring, “you could always just cloud my mind.”</p><p>“I don’t know why I’d want to.” Jean grinned. “Happy birthday, by the way.” She unfolded her arms, revealing a neon green gift bag stuffed with tissue paper printed with tiny cakes and balloons; one side of the bag read <em>BIRTHDAY BOY </em>in garish gold lettering.</p><p>James scowled. “Who told you it was my birthday?”</p><p>“Don’t be grouchy. Open it.” She held it out toward him, dangling it on one finger. “Then we can go down to the pond and enjoy it together.”</p><p>Hesitantly, James took the bag and peered inside. A smile cracked his face, despite his resolve to maintain his grouchiness. He pulled out the bottle of 21-year-old Canadian Rockies. The whisky glowed like molten caramel. “How’d you know?”</p><p>Jean tapped the side of her head and winked. “Come on, sailor,” she said as she took his arm, “don’t you want to get me drunk?”</p><p>***</p><p>They spread a soft plaid blanket on the grass beside the little pond at the northernmost edge of the Xavier property. The early July sun was pleasantly warm; insects thrummed in the sedge and wildflowers. James <em>snikt</em>ed one claw out to cut the bottle’s seal, then filled two red Solo cups, which they clacked together before drinking. Jean sat cross-legged, watching the ducks dabble and quack in the water. James lay on his side next to her, propped on an elbow. He swirled his drink and said “When is Scott coming back?”</p><p>Jean looked at him curiously for a moment before smiling gently. “Do you really want to talk about him right now?”</p><p>James gave a little shrug. “Not really. Just wondering.”</p><p>Jean returned her gaze to the pond. You know, I don’t need telepathic powers to know what you feel about him. Or about me.”</p><p>His face knotted darkly and he drained his drink, poured another. “Ok. Forget I said anything.”</p><p>Jean nudged his shoulder with her knee playfully. “Don’t sulk. He and I have an understanding. And you’re my friend and I wanted to spend your birthday with you.”</p><p>James wanted to ask what she meant by “an understanding,” but decided instead to let it go. He sipped more of the whisky, savoring its creamy feel on his tongue, the peppery way it evaporated down his throat when he swallowed. For a while they drank without speaking; James realized she was the only person he was comfortable around in silence like this since he arrived at the X-Mansion a year ago. Of course he trusted his new teammates—to an extent. They had proved that they would have his back in combat and that they accepted him in every way: as a refugee from the Weapon X program, as a new X-Man recruit, and—most importantly—as James. But would he drink like this with Rogue or Kurt or Piotr? Would he idle away his time with Ororo or Kitty or Hank? He didn’t think so, although he was unable to explain to himself why not. Or perhaps more accurately, was unwilling to admit why not.</p><p>While they drank, he snuck glances at Jean’s face, tracing with his eyes the smooth gentle slope of her nose in profile, the strawberry blooms on her cheeks, the faint sprinkling of girlish freckles across the bridge of her nose, the sharp line of her deep cupid’s bow. His chest ached with the desire to touch her, but he murdered the urge and buried it. She was his friend; her fiancé was his team leader. And besides, he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be sticking around the X-Mansion anyway. His feet and his bike were starting to get that old familiar itch for the road…</p><p>“I like these,” Jean said abruptly, reaching over and stroking one of the new scruffy sideburns that curved down his cheeks to his jawline.</p><p>“Yeah? You don’t think they’re too old-fashioned?”</p><p>“No, they are. But the look suits you.” She waggled her empty cup. James leaned to refill it; she put her fingers on the butt of the bottle, tilting it to keep him from stopping too soon. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m proud of you, by the way,” she said, ignoring his expression. “I know it hasn’t been easy. But there’s a new… lightness about you. Like some of the old storm clouds of your pain are finally blowing away.”</p><p>Not knowing what to say, and a little startled at her frankness about his personal business, James grunted and drained his cup again. Jean laughed a little, and the melodic sound hit a spot deep in his belly. “I know. You’re so unused to anyone showing you a little compassion, a little understanding,” she said. “Not everyone in the world is your enemy, Howlett. You can let your guard down sometimes.”</p><p>“You can just read my thoughts if there’s something you wanna know.”</p><p>“I can’t, you know. I mean, there’s the ethical issue for one thing. But besides that, you’re actually quite hard to read. Some people, their thoughts and feelings practically throw themselves at me. You’re…” One hand flapped in the air as she searched for the word she wanted. “Mysterious,” she said at last, laughing again.</p><p>He picked a long blade of sweetgrass and chewed it, rolling onto his back, hands under his head. “You said you didn’t need to be a telepath to know how I feel—” he stopped himself from saying <em>about you “</em>—about Cyclops.”</p><p>Jean’s face suddenly filled his vision as she leaned over him; the gardenia scent of her skin was overpowering, and her soft red curls gently tickled his cheek. “Didn’t we agree we’re not talking about him today?”</p><p>James swallowed hard; he knew he needed to move away from her but every muscle in his body was suddenly a lead weight. “Jean…”</p><p>She plucked the sweetgrass from his teeth and flung it aside. “Happy birthday, James,” she said huskily just before her mouth closed over his.</p><p>Her lips were like a song. He had the sensation of a heavy weight being lifted from his body, and brought his hands up to hold her face. Effortlessly, without breaking the kiss, she straddled him, tilting her hips into his. The feeling of her against him was overwhelming—he had wanted her for so long. His heart was on fire, his blood screamed. And yet…</p><p>Reluctantly, he gently pushed her head away and guided her off his lap. He stood up. He could feel his heartbeat thudding in every pulse point of his body.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Jean pulled a stray strand of hair from her wet lips, looking at him quizzically. “I thought this is what you wanted.”</p><p>“It is, but we can’t—it’s not—you don’t—” James grit his teeth, trying and failing to put his thoughts clearly into words.</p><p>Her eyes, bright chips of jade in the sunlight, were heavy-lidded with alcohol and lust, but she still looked at him tenderly, patiently. “Is it Scott? I told you, we have an understanding. He knows this is what I want.” She shrugged. “He’s with someone else too, while he’s on this away mission. I promise, it’s fine.”</p><p>That only added to James’ confusion and frustration. He didn’t know if it was true, or how to feel if it were, but Jean had never lied to him, after all. “Ok,” he said at last, “but—” He sighed. He didn’t want to say it. The surgery, the injections, the workouts… all of it helped, of course, all of it was important. Still, there was a part of him that he knew would never feel complete. That he would always grapple against. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, his voice tight and shivering. “No matter how much I want you, we can’t.”</p><p>Jean got to her feet, her unsteady movements the only betrayal of how much she’d had to drink. “I only wanted to make you happy. I wasn’t trying to upset you.”</p><p>“You did make me happy. But I should go now.” He picked up the half-empty bottle. “Thanks for the birthday present.”</p><p>Jean watched him walk back toward the mansion, swigging long gulps of whisky. Behind her, a duck splashed loudly as it took off and flew away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In his room in the eastern wing of the rambling gray brick mansion, James lay on his bed above the covers, staring at the dark ceiling and watching the shadows change as the sun set and the moon rose. He craved more whisky—the same healing factor that let him return to fighting shape after major surgery three times faster than a regular human also meant he metabolized alcohol at a frustratingly rapid rate—but he didn’t want to go out, to make the drive into town. Occasionally he could hear students in the hall, giggling, play-fighting, shushing each other, as they made their ways to their own dorms. He didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to have to speak to anyone. He lay there, unmoving as a gargoyle, hoping that sleep would eventually overtake him.</p><p>He was finally dozing when a quiet click bolted him upright. A knife-blade of lemon light from the hallway fell across the floor as the door quietly pushed open. Gardenias. Falling back against his pillows, he picked up his phone: 2 a.m. “Jesus, Jean. Do you know what fucking time it is?”</p><p>The door closed behind her. He felt her weight on the bed next to him. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said simply. “I don’t want you to be angry with me.”</p><p>He sighed. “I’m not.”</p><p>“Promise?” She held out a little finger in the shape of a question mark.</p><p>He hooked his little finger into hers. “Promise.”</p><p>“I’ve been thinking. I know how I can give you the present I wanted to this afternoon.”</p><p>“Jean, I told you—”</p><p>“If you really don’t want me to, I’ll let the matter go.” Her hand came up and cupped his cheek, soft and cool. The edge of her nails lightly scratched against his stubble, sending a chill down his back. “I know I’m selfish, James. I get these ideas sometimes, I always want to have my way, and I can be very stubborn. Please understand. I don’t see Scott as a limitation on my life, and I don’t want to be one on his. I love him with all of my heart, but even he can’t give me everything I want. Nor can I be everything he needs all the time. Love and sex are important to me, and I believe happiness can come from more than one person you love or fuck, as long as you’re honest about it.” Her thumb slowly traced James’ lower lip. “I’ve wanted you just as long as you’ve wanted me. And if you’re worried you can’t give me what I’m asking for, I have an idea. Tell me no, and I’ll leave. No big deal.”</p><p>James became abruptly aware that he was holding his breath. He covered her hand with his, pressed his lips into her palm. “Stay,” he said quietly.</p><p>Their mouths met again, softly at first, but then quickly they gave into the urge to taste the other as deeply as possible. Jean twisted her fingers into James’ hair as her tongue moved insistently against his. Her fingers traced the sharp blade of his collarbone, down the outline of his stomach muscles, and began working to unknot his joggers.</p><p>“No,” he said softly, moving her hands away.</p><p>She looked momentarily disappointed, but James sat up and kissed her again, hard, and used his weight to move her onto her back now. He licked and nipped the arch of her throat while he bunched up the fabric of her t-shirt, thumbs finding her bare nipples and circling them to stiff points. The skin of her belly was feverishly hot, and the sensation of it rising and falling against him as her breath quickened was intoxicating. His tongue trailed down her stomach and dipped briefly into her navel, which elicited a half-gasped giggle. He lifted his eyes to see her lovely face smiling at him. “Tease,” she said affectionately.</p><p>With a crooked grin, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pajama pants. “Never.” Down the pants went over her hips, and she lifted her ass to help him strip them off altogether. She wasn’t wearing panties, and James sighed at the sight of her. Bright ginger hair curled delicately down her pale mound.</p><p>Arms draped above her head, her mouth pursed into a mock pout, she pressed her thighs together demurely. “Like what you see, Mr. Howlett?”</p><p>“Immensely.” He leaned forward, reaching for her, but she thumped a heel against his chest and pushed him back. “Now who’s the tease,” he said in a thick growl.</p><p>“I want you to see what you do to me.” She spread her legs wide as a hand slipped between them. “I watched you in the Danger Room today.” Two fingers forked open her plump, pink lips. “You looked so fucking hot. It drove me crazy.” She moaned softly as she pressed a finger against her clitoris and began to circle it, slowly. A teardrop of wetness seeped out of her. She swiped it with her fingertips and massaged it onto her clit.</p><p>James couldn’t breathe; he was biting his lip so hard he thought he might actually pierce it. Despite what she’d said, he wasn’t able to wait any longer—after all, he’d waited a year to taste her already. He snatched her hands, making her gasp, and pushed them to the mattress. Obediently, she succumbed. Her long legs draped over his shoulders, feet pressing into his back. She tasted tart and earthy, like overripe fruit, like summer rain in the air. He swiped his tongue hard and fast up the length of her before settling into a rhythmic circle around the peak of her clit.</p><p>“Fuck yes,” she whispered, twisting her fingers in his hair as she rocked herself against his working tongue. It became a whimpered chant, growing louder as he led her steadily to the edge. “Please,” she begged, afraid he might stop. “I want to come.”</p><p>He groaned in assent; he could deny her nothing. His tongue burned a path on her. Her back arched; her nails dug into the back of his skull to hold him in place. She moaned his name over and over, the sound of her voice as pleasurable to him as the rippling contractions of her orgasm were to her.</p><p>In the warmth of the afterglow, he lay his head on the pillow of her thighs, breathing in her scent while her fingers lazily stroked the tops of his ears, the fuzz of his sideburns. This was contentment like he’d never felt before.</p><p>“James?” Her voice was so quiet that at first he wasn’t sure he’d heard it.</p><p>“Mm?”</p><p>“Are you really going to leave?”</p><p>A long moment passed, his body so tense it hurt. “What makes you think that?”</p><p>“I couldn’t help it.” There was a tightness to her voice, as if she were holding back tears. “When you made me… well, sometimes, when I come, I can’t control my powers. I didn’t mean to read your thoughts. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Guilt slithered through his veins, snakes made of ice. It had been unbidden, gnawing quietly at the back of his brain while he ate her: <em>Is this the only time I’ll have her? If I leave, will I ever see her again? Ever hear her say my name like this again?</em></p><p>“It’s ok.” He kissed her soft skin. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”</p><p>“But are you really going to leave?”</p><p>Another long stretch of silence before he answered. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“James.”</p><p>“Mm.”</p><p>“Look at me.”</p><p>Slowly he obeyed. Her eyes were glittering in the low light. “You mean the world to me and all I want is for you to be happy. Ok? Just… no matter what you decide to do, please know that’s true.”</p><p>He squeezed her hand, swallowing hard. He didn’t trust himself to speak so he simply nodded and kissed her fingers.</p><p>“Will you let me give you what I wanted to earlier? Please?”</p><p>He scooted up the length of her body and kissed her forehead appreciatively. “I’m not sure what you mean.”</p><p>The look she gave him could have melted an iceberg. “I want you to fuck me, James. I know you feel apprehensive about it. But what if I promise I can make it exactly what you want?”</p><p>“I still don’t—”</p><p>She crushed her mouth against his, long and hard. When she finally pulled away she said “Please? Just trust me?”</p><p>He nodded. “Yes.”</p><p>“Good.” She kissed him again, gently at first, then harder, more possessively. “Get your cock,” she murmured against his mouth.</p><p>Too dizzy with lust to feel any self-consciousness, he dutifully got off the bed, opened the nightstand drawer, and retrieved his gear: a leather-strap harness and prosthetic cock previously arranged in a pair of navy blue men’s briefs. He adjusted the prosthetic so it rested comfortably against his body under the fabric of the briefs and created a believable bulge. It was six inches long and colored a realistically dark peach; he’d spent a considerable amount of time shopping for one that didn’t seem too dramatically different from his skin tone. A vague sense of confusion floated through his mind for a moment; he couldn’t recall if he had ever told Jean about it, or if it was something she’d read in his mind. It didn’t matter, he decided. All that mattered was pleasing her.</p><p>He carefully knelt over her and kissed her again. “I want this so much,” she murmured reassuringly, then touched her fingertips to his temple. A honeyed buzzing sensation started at the top of his skull, radiating through his entire body, and culminated in a heavy nexus between his legs. He gasped, at last understanding what she was giving him. Suddenly he could feel the tick of his pulse in the sculpted veins of the cock. He felt the chafe of flesh against the fabric of the briefs. And when her hand cupped the bulge, massaging it tenderly, he felt his heartbeat quicken at the pleasure of it.</p><p>“Oh fuck,” he whispered, “Jean.”</p><p>She smiled against his lips. “Yes, darling. I need you to fuck me, please.”</p><p>Like a lightning strike in a desiccated forest, her voice lit him on fire. He yanked her body against his, roughly spreading her thighs with his knees as he reached into the front of his briefs and withdrew his cock. It was heavy and warm in his palm, and he groaned quietly as he squeezed its girth. He teased the head up and down the seam of her vulva, making the bulb glisten with her wetness; he groaned again, this time her name. She lifted her hips and, with no more preamble, he sank inside, making them both cry out in relief and gladness.</p><p>She clutched his biceps as he began to fuck her with smooth, long strokes. Amazed, James relished the exquisite warmth of her, the tightness of her around the prosthetic exactly as if it were his real flesh. Watching her face, he knew it was just as intense for her. He clenched his teeth, wanting every second to go on forever.</p><p>Jean’s hips bucked, trying to increase his pace. “Goddamnit, James,” she whined in frustration. He suddenly comprehended the effort her powers required to give him this experience, juxtaposed with her own insistent need. He knew he could no longer hold back everything he’d felt for so long. With abrupt ferociousness, he jackhammered into her. Crying out, her hands flew to his shoulders to steady herself as her climax built. His head dropped and, grunting with concentration, he gripped the back of her knees to spread her legs wider. The bed shook, the drawers of the nightstand rattled. Jean whimpered his name on repeat as he frictioned in and out, in and out. And then, in an instant, she was coming: back arched, pussy clenching wildly around his shaft, mouth wide in a long, loud cry. Her inner muscles contracted hard enough to force him out of her.</p><p>For a moment, James propped himself above her, steadying his breath. “Was that ok?” he murmured, nuzzling her neck, kissing the soft skin behind her ear.</p><p>She laughed a little, not unkindly. She had not relinquished her psychic hold over his body and knew he was still aching. “It was just want I wanted,” she answered reassuringly, running her fingers through his hair, tousling it out of place then brushing it back in place. “Well, almost.”</p><p>“Almost?”</p><p>“I told you, I’m selfish,” she said, rising up while simultaneously pushing James onto his back now. She grasped his cock, guiding it again to her opening and fluidly sliding down the full length of it. She sighed, then moaned softly as she worked herself up and down.</p><p>“Fuck,” James said in a low breath. The pleasure of her riding him was beyond words. He could do nothing but lie there and enjoy her enjoying him. He was mesmerized by her face, her heavy-lidded eyes, her slack mouth letting out small, delighted gasps with each bounce.</p><p>“James.” Jean’s voice was nearly breathless, but she didn’t break her pace, didn’t open her eyes. “Darling, I want you to come with me. I want that so fucking much.”</p><p>Before her psychic exertions, he had never even fantasized about being able to come like this. But now as she moved on him, taking him deep inside her tight warmth, he felt himself getting close, fast. It startled him, this utterly new, almost hyperrealistic sensation. His hands gripped her waist; her hands pressed flat and hard on his chest. They were an engine, well-built, with a singular purpose.</p><p>“I’m so close,” she moaned. “James, come for me, please.”</p><p>It was the <em>please</em> that triggered it, he thought, or maybe she used her power to break past his will to hold back. His breath choked in his throat and his eyes squeezed shut. “God, fuck, yes,” he gasped as his hips bucked against her, then he was utterly still as rapture flooded his entire body. Jean cried out above him, her stomach muscles rippling. They came together as she wanted, a mutual ache finally relieved.</p><p>And yet. James felt something in him growl, something he had let be hungry far too long. He lifted Jean off his cock with a soft wet sound, then flipped her onto her back and buried his face against her pussy and ate her again. She writhed and wriggled against his tongue, adoring how he opened his mouth wide against her, slipping his tongue into her hollow. He was relentless, tongue flickering fast and smooth against the hardness of her clit, then dipping down into her slit, then back up again, circling with single-mindedness. She squealed and gasped. Close again already. And then, as if he was the one who could read her mind, he moved above her and plunged his cock hard and deep inside. Her vagina fluttered and gripped him, her fingers grasped his wrists, her eyes squeezed shut. Her powers surrounded them both in a warm glow. He felt her orgasm around his cock like a demanding drumbeat, and, astonishingly, he came again, her name a long low roar rumbling from his chest.</p><p>“Jesus,” he whispered as he slowly slid out of her. Her hands brushed through his hair tenderly; their psychic connection broke with a small zap, as if he’d touched a low voltage current. A strange sort of coldness filled his head and chest, and he fought a sudden, deeply uncharacteristic urge to weep.</p><p>She kissed his shoulder affectionately as he lay down next to her. “So we agree it was ok?”</p><p>It was his turn to laugh. “Is it always like that with you?”</p><p>“Probably the best thing about having telepathic powers is that I can give myself really intense orgasms. Not everyone woman gets off from just being penetrated after all. I consider myself spoiled rotten. And as a bonus I can intensify the feeling for my partners.”</p><p>“So you’re saying you’ve ruined anyone else I might take to bed, huh?”</p><p>She grinned. “Face facts, Howlett, I would have anyway.”</p><p>He shoved her playfully. “Shut up.” He nuzzled his face against her neck, growing serious again. “You really knew how much I wanted you? Without reading my mind?”</p><p>A fingertip zigzagged down his forehead, across the bridge of his nose. “Plain as day. Everyone knew it.”</p><p>“Everyone?”</p><p>“Everyone.”</p><p>He frowned. “I thought I was mysterious.”</p><p>“You are. And dark and handsome. Not very tall though.” She shrieked as he attacked her ribs; then her shrieks turned into bubbling laughter and her laughter faded to a sigh as their lips met again and they fell into a new rhythm together, wet and hard and starving.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James woke with a start, acutely aware he was alone in bed. Pearl-gray predawn light streamed through the windows; finches warbled and slurred in the trees outside. He had been dreaming of Weapon X again, though the details evaporated quickly now that he was awake, and he was left with the same vague, uneasy feeling he always had afterward. He vigorously rubbed his face and wished he’d brought a bottle of water to his room the night before.</p><p>The bedroom door was slightly ajar; though he couldn’t see her, he could hear Jean’s voice, trying to be quiet but clearly agitated.</p><p>“—mean you changed your mind?” A pause. “We <em>did</em> discuss it.” Another pause; she was on the phone, James figured, with Cyclops. “I never said that. You agreed to—no, don’t interrupt me, you agreed to this, and while I understand you feel differently about what happens in the future now, you can’t get mad at me—stop fucking interrupting me, you can’t get mad at me for what you told me you were fine with before.” A long pause. “And did you fuck her? No, answer me. Did you fuck Elizabeth? Exactly. And that’s fine, because we agreed to it. I’m not fond of her but I know she makes you happy, all I asked was that I didn’t hear about it. Dammit, Scott, I’m <em>not</em> giving you the details, I simply told you it happened, <em>like we agreed.</em> Hello? Goddamnit!”</p><p>She came back into the room and threw her phone onto the mattress. She was wearing only her t-shirt from the night before, and now she found the pajama pants on the floor and stepped into them. Her face was sour, her skin vividly flushed.</p><p>James softly cleared his throat. “You ok?”</p><p>“He makes me so goddamn angry sometimes. I’m sorry you heard that. I didn’t know it was going to be an argument when he called.” She sat down hard on the end of the bed, chewing the cuticle of one finger.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I knew it shouldn’t have happened.”</p><p>She turned to him, her expression softening a little. “Please don’t regret last night. I don’t.” James reached out and touched her back, but she stiffened and stood up. “I should go,” she said emotionlessly.</p><p>“I thought, I don’t know, maybe you’d want to get breakfast or something.”</p><p>She sighed but didn’t look at him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”</p><p>Stung, James didn’t know what to say. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding painfully together. “Ok.” It was little more than a growl.</p><p>“Please don’t be upset. I have enough to deal with regarding Scott as it is. We’ll talk later, I promise.” She quietly left the room.</p><p>James sat still as stone for a moment, his heart pounding in aching fury. Then, with a thunderous guttural shout, the claws on his right hand unsheathed themselves and he drove his fist through the bedroom wall. </p><p>***</p><p>The Blackbird’s engines swiveled 90 degrees as it began its vertical descent into the X-Mansion’s hanger. In the cockpit the pilot opened the comm. “Cyclops, Colossus, Psylocke, and Storm reporting, Professor.”</p><p>“Welcome home.” Professor X’s voice buzzed warmly through the speaker in reply. “Cyclops, I’d like to have a private briefing with you as soon as possible.”</p><p>“Understood. See you shortly.” Scott brought the Blackbird to a smooth landing, then turned to his teammates. “Well done, crew. Get some rest. We’ll reconvene in the morning for an official report.”</p><p>The Russian-born X-Man known as Colossus—for good reason, as he was nearly as tall as a brown bear on its hind feet and just as muscular—unfolded himself from the cabin’s seat and got shakily to his feet; he was not, as his pallor attested, a good flier. “Official report is I sleep for week.”</p><p>Ororo and Elizabeth followed him. “Do not forget to report to sick bay for your headaches,” Ororo said to Scott as she exited.</p><p>“Yes ma’am.” Scott stood up, pulling the uniform’s visor off and swiftly replacing it with a customized pair of ruby-quartz aviators that were far more comfortable on his face. He blinked his sore eyes open once the lenses were safely in place; they held his uncontrollable optic blasts in check, but he was starting to wonder if his newly persistent headaches were a side effect.</p><p>Elizabeth, lingering at the hatchway, gave him a soft smile. “Good job, Slim. I swear, you’re more comfortable as team leader with every mission.” Her fingers drifted subtly across the back of his hand where it rested on the back of the pilot’s seat.</p><p>Scott cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Thank you.”</p><p>Elizabeth’s lips pursed. “Oh, now that we’re back in Salem Center it’s business as usual? As if I didn’t have your cock halfway down my throat last night?”</p><p>Scott’s head rolled back and he stared at the Blackbird’s ceiling. All the air left his lungs in a long, slow exhale. “You know it’s complicated.”</p><p>One of Elizabeth’s sharply manicured brows lifted. “What I know is, <em>you’re</em> the one making it complicated. Your jealousy combined with your selfishness is going to cost you dearly at some point, sir.” She kissed her gloved fingertips, pressed them to his mouth. “Thanks for the sex.”</p><p>Scott watched her exit the jet and walk out of the hanger. He ran his hands through his crew cut and took several deep breaths, trying to focus his thoughts. He pushed Elizabeth’s words to the back of his mind. Selfish? Was having complex emotions selfish? And besides—what was there to be jealous of? James was just a kid, his attention simply flattered Jean’s ego; Scott hadn’t really believed she would actually sleep with him. Still, he had to face the fact that he had slept with Elizabeth and expected Jean to be accepting of it. So why did it chap him so badly that she had bedded that scruffy, taciturn punk who made it exuberantly clear that he didn’t respect Scott’s position as Jean’s fiancé or as his leader?</p><p>With a sigh, massaging his forehead in hopes of soothing the freshly growing ache in his skull, Scott Summers headed to Professor Charles Xavier’s office.</p><p>*** </p><p><em>Thunk!</em> James’ left fist slammed into the 100 pound heavy bag. <em>Thunk!</em> His right. The bag swayed slightly. His chest muscles screamed in pain, tearing again. Sweat sheened his naked torso, stung his eyes. He kept punching the bag harder and harder, until he lost control of his form and his blows landed sloppier and sloppier and, at the end, he was simply pushing against the bag’s weight.</p><p>Exhausted, he fell into the bag and hugged it like a body to keep himself on his feet. His breath was ragged. His shoulders quivered. In a final surge of frustration that welled up from his guts, he let out a primal scream and swung his right fist into the heavy bag so hard that the straps holding it to the S-hook in the ceiling ripped and the bag slumped off-kilter.</p><p>“Yikes,” a female voice with a strong East Anglian accent said behind him. “Good thing you didn’t have your claws popped for that.”</p><p>Teeth ground into a hard snarl, he glanced over his shoulder. Elizabeth Braddock’s long frame filled the gym’s entryway. Her unbound purple hair fell over half her face, like a film noir femme fatale. She was still dressed in her mission uniform: black leather bustier and pants that highlighted and flattered each muscle and curve. James wasn’t sure she ever wore anything else, actually.</p><p>Without a word, James’ claws <em>snikt</em>ed out and in the same instant he swung hard into the heavy bag again, his momentum slicing easily through the vinyl, bisecting its bulk; sand hissed in a heap to the floor.</p><p>Elizabeth’s face registered only mild surprise. “Impressive,” she said, coming fully into the gym. “You’ve certainly come a long way since you arrived here.”</p><p>“Thanks.” His voice was a low rumble. He sheathed his claws and started to head for the locker room.</p><p>“However, you do have a serious knack for making messes,” Elizabeth said, following him.</p><p>“I’m hitting the shower. I’ll clean it up later.”</p><p>“And the hole in your room’s drywall?”</p><p>James’ eyes narrowed. “I’ll give the professor some cash.” He opened his locker and pulled out a clean towel and a fresh tank top and pair of jeans. When he shut the door, Elizabeth’s face was beside him, the faintest hint of a smile curving her lips. “Do you want something?” James said tightly.</p><p>Her cornflower eyes were bright, their expression mischievous. “You could say that.” A hand came up, fingers twisting in James’ hair; she pulled his face to hers and kissed him.</p><p>Immediately, as if bitten by a snake, James jerked away. “What the hell are you doing?”</p><p>Elizabeth’s hands spread innocently. “Isn’t it obvious?”</p><p>“Flattered,” James growled. “But not interested.” He began walking toward the shower stalls. Elizabeth followed. Ignoring her, he yanked a curtain closed and stripped naked, snapped on the water.</p><p>“James, I happen to know all about your entanglement with a certain redheaded telepath we share residence with.” Elizabeth’s voice sang to him over the gush and splash of the shower. “And I happen to know how said encounter affected said redhead’s betrothed.”</p><p>James’ teeth ground against each other. But he said nothing, just stood perfectly still, letting the hot spray drill against his skull, holding his breath.</p><p>“I know you’re in love with Jean,” Elizabeth continued, casually, as if discussing a recipe. “And while I’m sure it was wonderful to finally get to take her to bed, the fact is, it’s never going to happen again.”</p><p>James shut the water shut off. He wrapped the towel around his waist and wrenched the shower curtain open. His face was dark. “I don’t see what business any of this is of yours.”</p><p>A fingertip tickled down the sharp line of James’ cheekbone. “Everything’s fun and games til someone gets their heart broken.” James snatched her hand; she gasped in genuine astonishment, then smiled. “You’re hurting me,” she said thickly.</p><p>A muscle in his jaw ticking, James let go. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” he said as he went past her, “but I said I’m not interested.” In the privacy of another shower stall, he quickly pulled on the jeans and tank top. Vigorously toweling his hair, he returned to the locker room’s central space. Elizabeth sat on one of the benches, her uniform’s bustier pulled down to expose her pert breasts, capped with dusky pink nipples.</p><p>“You keeping saying those words <em>not interested</em> as if you don’t know that I’m also capable of reading your thoughts.” Elizabeth leaned forward, lips pouting. “I happen to think you’re pretty fuckable too.” She laughed. “You should hear some of the thoughts the girls here have about you. Positively <em>filthy.</em> And you’re going to limit yourself to Jean Grey? Who—for whatever ridiculous reason—is head over heels for that square Boy Scout Scott Summers?”</p><p>“You’ve made your point, Elizabeth.”</p><p>She stood up and came to where James stood. When she spoke, her voice was a reedy breath. “No, I don’t think I have.” She took one of his hands in hers and brought it to her breasts; warmth radiated from her onto his palm. “When I said you were hurting me?” Her tongue flicked out, softly swiping across his lips. “I like being hurt.”</p><p>Trying to hide the increasing pace of his breath, James squeezed Elizabeth’s breast, let his fingers pinch the nipple lightly at first, then harder, and harder still. When she gasped, he twisted. She whimpered. He yanked, making her cry out and pulling her body into his. Their lips smashed against each other, their teeth clacked as they pressed their tongues together. Elizabeth panted into his mouth. She grabbed his hand and shoved it down the front of her uniform’s pants; his fingers slipped easily over her wetness. She moaned as he began to stroke her clit.</p><p>The squeak of sneakers on the gym floor and the thump of a basketball behind them. “Loser gets winner lunch!” came Piotr’s voice into the locker room.</p><p>A feminine Southern drawl answered: “No way, Pete—last time, I had to take out a bank loan to pay the bill you ran at Nippon Sushi!”</p><p>James pulled his hand away. He retrieved his socks and boots, and left the locker room without a word.</p><p>“Hey, James,” Rogue called as he crossed the gym. “That your handiwork?” She pointed to the wrecked heavy bag.</p><p>“I’ll pay for a new one.”</p><p>“Join us for ball game?” Piotr grinned hopefully. “Rogue gets sushi after.”</p><p>“No thanks.”</p><p>“C’mon, sugar. We never see you unless it’s for a mission or training. Shoot some hoops and have lunch with us.”</p><p>“Some other time.”</p><p>“Is fun! Rogue teaches me horse! Here!” Piotr chucked the ball at James.</p><p>Instead of catching it, his claws popped out and sliced through the basketball as if it were butter. “I’m not a sports guy,” he said as he left the gym.</p><p>“Goddamnit, James, what the hell is your problem?” Rogue yelled after him. “You fucking asshole!”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The enormous computer screen in Professor X’s office glowed bluely; the display showed a satellite view of the United States, dense with pinpricks of gently pulsing light. Each dot represented a mutant located by Cerebro, the complex telepathic amplifier Xavier had constructed with Dr. Hank McCoy. Xavier punched a short sequence of keys on the computer and a scattered number of the dots turned red.</p><p>“In the last week, there have been eighteen murders of mutants in the country,” Xavier said quietly. “Six of those victims were under the age of twenty. Two were under the age of fifteen.”</p><p>“And not a word in the media.” Scott’s own voice was tight. “No censure from the government.”</p><p>“I’m afraid the government is responsible. Each murdered victim was killed by members of a federally-sanctioned militia calling themselves Friends of Humanity.”</p><p>Scott frowned. “Federally-sanctioned?”</p><p>“Unofficially, of course. But Hank’s thorough research has found that some creative bookkeepers in several government offices across the country that have funneled money to accounts opened by key Friends of Humanity leaders. One of whom, in particular, I’d like you to pay a visit to.” Xavier punched a new key and the map onscreen was replaced by a photo of a man with a long dagger tattoo on one side of his face. More tattoos were visible on his neck and hands beneath the custom-cut three piece suit he wore. “His name is Graydon Creed. He’s styled himself as an advocate for human rights, while using terrorist tactics against mutant communities. And you’ll enjoy this tidbit.” Xavier smirked. “He’s the son of two mutants.”</p><p>“The irony is staggering.” Scott rubbed his forehead, an unconscious habit now. “Where is he located?”</p><p>“He travels frequently, mostly through the Southeast and Western states where he seems to have the most supporters. Currently, Cerebro has him located in the Florida panhandle. I want you to take a team to pick him up.”</p><p>Scott raised his eyebrows. “Citizen’s arrest, Professor?”</p><p>“He will never agree to meet with me peacefully. I’m hopeful that a conversation with him might grant him… new insight.”</p><p>Scott was certain he knew what the Professor was implying and it made his stomach flop. But he let the matter go. He stood up. “I’ll take Colossus and Storm.”</p><p>Xavier shook his head. “They deserve a chance to cool down from your last mission. I want you to take Wolverine and Rogue. And one of the telepaths, either Phoenix or Psylocke.”</p><p>“Wolverine?” Scott tried hard to not reveal his displeasure in the way he said James’ codename. “He’s just a kid, he’s undisciplined—”</p><p>“And he needs experiences to help build his discipline. He’s a lone wolf, Cyclops. And he came to us at a vulnerable time of his life, in a great deal of physical and psychic pain. If he is to be an X-Man, he needs to learn to join the pack, to cooperate and participate.”</p><p>“But sir—”</p><p>“I have faith that as a good leader, you have the skills to put aside your personal feelings.” Xavier swiveled his chair away from Scott, his attention settling back on the computer screen. “You’ll leave Tuesday morning. I’ll send the coordinates to the Blackbird’s computer system.” With that, the subject was closed.</p><p>*** </p><p>Jean sat curled in her room’s overstuffed papasan chair, trying to concentrate on the book she was reading. Her thoughts kept wandering—first to Scott and the unreasonably angry words he’d spat at her over the phone; and then to James and the memory of his skin against hers, the perfect way he’d filled her up, the sound of his voice groaning her name…</p><p>“For god’s sake!” She slammed the book shut and closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths in an attempt to center her mind. Just as she began to feel her brain enter a calm, meditative state, there was a knock on her door.</p><p>Her heart skipped, for a moment thinking it might be James. But then she sensed Scott’s unique energy pattern and a strange feeling of dread radiated within her.</p><p>She cracked the door. “I don’t think I’m in the mood to talk yet.” Then she saw the huge bouquet of fragrant flowers clutched in his hand: blue gardenias and creamy pink roses. Despite herself, she smiled and pulled the door fully open.</p><p>***</p><p>A storm was rumbling in, heavy dark clouds threaded with lightning, the air thick and damp with the promise of rain. James finished stuffing his clothes into his duffel, zipped it closed.</p><p>He silently pulled his door shut and started walking down the long eastern wing’s hallway, carefully trying to make as little sound as possible, avoiding the spots in the ancient wood floorboards he knew creaked at the slightest pressure.</p><p>He passed Jean’s room. Stopped. The sounds of sex came from under the door. Blood flooded hotly into his face. </p><p>“Hey, luv.” Elizabeth’s voice behind him. “They’ve been at it over two hours now. Might be impressive if a girl weren’t trying to get some sleep.”</p><p>James grunted, shifted his duffel on his shoulders, and started to head down the hall once more.</p><p>“Going somewhere?”</p><p>He wasn’t sure what made him stop. He dropped the duffel to the floor and turned to look at Elizabeth. Her arms were stretched over her head, hands gripping the top of the door frame, making the lines of her biceps taut; she was wearing thigh high knit socks, a pair of athletic shorts, and a cropped t-shirt that tantalizingly exposed her navel. Her hair was pulled into a loose high ponytail.</p><p>“If you’re not in a hurry,” Elizabeth said softly, “we could give them a run for their money.”</p><p>A long moment passed. Groans and thuds behind him. Jean’s voice, “Oh, Scott, Scott!” James picked up his duffel and followed Elizabeth into her room.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Lightning sheeted the low clouds, occasionally and vividly illuminating Jean’s bedroom. Scott lay beside her, completely naked except for his aviators. If it weren’t for his slow breaths, punctuated by a periodic soft snore, she wouldn’t have known he was asleep.</p><p>She pressed the points of her nails into the flesh of his chest, very lightly, but she wondered what would happen if she sunk them into his skin. Could she reach into the muscles, crack the bones, make his blood spill? Uncomfortable with the intrusively dark images her brain invoked unbidden, she flattened her palm over his warm skin and focused instead on the gentle sensation of his heartbeat, studying the relaxed lines of his face. He had shaved in the morning as part of his usual routine, but pricks of whiskers were visible along his chin and upper lip again already. She’d asked him once if he’d grow a beard because she thought it would be sexy, and his decidedly negative answer had disappointed her a little. Maybe that was why she liked the uncut scrub of James’ dark muttonchops so much.</p><p>A cold sort of comprehension spread through her. Clearly, she found James physically attractive. But if lust for his body was all there was to it, she might not feel so conflicted about Scott’s unexpected change of heart. It would be easy to set aside a base urge like that; after all, there were plenty of people she thought were appealingly hot but didn’t take to bed.</p><p>How could she reconcile the intense feelings she had for the two men, so unlike each other? Scott, the disciplined strategist. James, the defiant punk. Scott, the Boy Scout. James, the Outlaw. Scott who shaved every morning, folded his underwear, had two beers and called it a night. James who got whiskey-drunk and blazed his motorcycle down midnight-dark roads. Even their approaches to sex were vastly different. Scott was a good fuck and knew how to make it last, but he wasn’t fond of oral sex and on the rare occasions he did go down on her, he treated it like a chore to be dispensed with quickly; meanwhile James had eaten her as if she were the only sustenance that could keep him alive.</p><p>Her own words to James came back to her: <em>happiness can come from more than one person, as long as you’re honest about it</em>. Was she being honest about her feelings for him? She’d agreed with Scott’s demand that she not sleep with him again. She was in love with Scott Summers, of course; they were getting married next spring. But now, the thought of never being in James’ arms again flooded her body with icy despondence.</p><p>Jean got out of bed. She went to the window, watching the rain. She told herself that what she was about to do was simply to make sure James was all right; she was concerned about how their last conversation had ended, after all. Focusing her power, her mind stretched through the mansion, seeking his.</p><p>She gasped. Her brain thrummed as James’ energy registered, and the raw sexuality of it crashed through her body like an ocean in a hurricane. In her mind, she heard Elizabeth’s Essex accent, throaty and thick. <em>God, yes, like that—lick me just like that—my good boy—</em></p><p>Shocked, she broke the connection immediately. A loud thunderclap made her jump.</p><p>“Jean?” Scott’s voice was still thick with sleep. “You ok?”</p><p>“I, um. Yes. The storm woke me up, that’s all.”</p><p>Scott patted the empty sheets next to him. “Come back to bed, babe.”</p><p>She spooned up against his torso and he began lightly playing with her hair as he always did when she had trouble sleeping. It felt good, relaxing and familiar, but it did nothing to make her want to sleep. Eventually, his hand dropped away and his breathing deepened again. Jean lay awake, knees curled to her chest, staring into the dark.</p><p>***</p><p>“God, yes, like that, lick me just like that,” Elizabeth moaned, “my good boy.” Her legs were draped over the arms of a chair, spread wide, her fingers dug into his scalp. She came hard on his tongue, yanking his hair with the rhythm.</p><p>James sat back on his heels, wiping his lips. Her expression was heavy-lidded, self-satisfied. She grasped his chin and kissed him. She scored her nails on his skin lightly at first, then again with even more insistence. He groaned a little into her mouth and she laughed softly in reply. Abruptly, she raked her nails fiercely down his sides once more, this time with enough pressure to leave welts. James arched, breaking the kiss to gasp aloud in a heady mix of pain and pleasure that made Elizabeth clench in arousal.</p><p>“I like that sound. Makes me wet,” she said, putting the points of her nails on the meat of his shoulders.</p><p>“Yeah? You like hurting me?”</p><p>“I fucking love it.” Like lightning strikes, her nails slashed downward, reddening his back. He let himself groan loudly for her.</p><p>“On your stomach,” she ordered, and he climbed onto the bed without hesitation. In a softer voice she said, “Look at your pretty back.” Her fingertips tickled along the lines of his shoulder blades, delineated under his skin like small wings. “Are you going to let me hurt you, my pretty boy?”</p><p>A safe word hadn’t been discussed, but James trusted that she would stop if he told her to. Although the realization spread through his mind that he didn’t want her to stop. He nodded and said yes.</p><p>The warm flats of her palms rested lightly on his back, then slid down and pulled his joggers past the globes of his ass. “Such a good boy.”</p><p>Without warning he felt a white-hot crack on the skin between his shoulders and he gasped loudly. He craned his neck and saw the wide-tipped black leather crop in her hands. The lazily hungry expression on her face as she admired the first stripe it had made on his skin thrilled him.</p><p>Another quick blow caught him along his left shoulder and he arched and cried out.</p><p>“I didn’t say you could look at me,” she said with abrupt coldness, and he turned his head and buried his face into the pillow automatically. “Count backward from ten.”</p><p>He lifted his head enough so that she could hear him. “Ten—ahh!” Instantly the crop <em>thwacked</em> his right shoulder.</p><p>“Good boy. Keep going.”</p><p>“Nine—fuck!” In the middle of his back now. “Eight.” Across the small of his back just above his ass. It hurt but not unpleasantly, and the relief as the stings subsided was enjoyable in its own way too. “Seven,” and he yelped as the crop whipped across one hip.</p><p>“You’re doing so well,” he heard Elizabeth say behind him. “You look so good with my marks on you, so bright and red.”</p><p>He didn’t think he was allowed to say anything, just count, so he nodded a little acknowledgment of her praise and white-knuckled the pillow under his arms in anticipation. “Six.” The other hip now, pain so sharp and sudden he lost his breath for a moment. “Five,” he said in a low gasp, and the blow came down between his shoulders again.</p><p>“My good boy,” Elizabeth purred, trailing the flat head of the crop down the line of his spine. “We’re halfway done. Do you want to keep going?”</p><p>To his surprise, he did. Each place the crop landed—precisely aimed to miss the previous marks—stung the skin but sent a delightful shiver to his crotch. He felt dizzy with lust, befogged by the sensations she was giving him, and hungry for more. He briefly wondered why exactly he enjoyed what she was doing but he also wasn’t certain there had to be a nameable reason.</p><p>He felt something.</p><p>She made him feel it.</p><p>What difference did it make if it was called pleasure or pain?</p><p>“One,” he said in a gritted-teeth groan, squeezing his eyes shut. His back was on fire and he was aware, peripherally, that he was trembling.</p><p>This strike was the most ferocious, a hard and rapid swat across his ass that made him cry out at the top of his lungs and wrench the pillow as if trying to rip it in half. He was grateful it was the last.</p><p>“You can look at me now. Did you like that?”</p><p>He pushed himself up and turned around to face her. She looked extraordinarily pleased with herself, her pretty features glowing. “I did,” he said in exhaustion. “A lot.”</p><p>“I’m glad.” She smiled and leaned forward to kiss him with the gentleness of a shy lover. “Do you want to fuck me now?”</p><p>He pulled his joggers back up and started to get off the bed to retrieve his gear, but stopped when he felt a warm buzz glow through his body—similar to the experience with Jean but this felt like Elizabeth in a way he wasn’t sure there were words for. Her energy signature was unique, a kind of psychic fingerprint. He looked at her quizzically for a moment, as the energy centered itself between his legs.</p><p>She smiled. “You don’t need an artificial one with me.”</p><p>He pushed off the joggers: an erect penis, albeit one that glowed with the pink energy of Psylocke’s manifested powers, arched thickly from his body. He marveled at it for a moment, the physical sensation of it in his palm, the jolts of pleasure evoked as he rubbed the head. “That’s unbelievable.”</p><p>“Neat trick, isn’t it? What good are these powers if I can’t have some fun with them?” She kissed him, running her fingers through his hair and caressing the tops of his ears. “Now,” she said, lightly nipping at his lip, “put your cock in me.”</p><p>There was no apprehension or hesitation. All he wanted in the world was to please her; there was no room for any other idea or emotion.</p><p>“Slow,” she told him as he entered her. Her soft legs slid up his thighs as he rocked inside. “Touch my clit.” He licked his fingers and began lightly swirling them around the hard little pebble, then more directly, with more pressure, watching her face for cues. As he continued to massage her, he slid all the way out, then all the way back in, very slowly, making her moan appreciatively.</p><p>At last she lifted her arms, beckoning him. “Come here.”</p><p>He rose up, his arms trembling as he held himself above her. Her palm ran up and down his jaw with warm tenderness.</p><p>“You have such a pretty face,” she murmured lovingly. Then she drew back and with fierce swiftness slapped her open palm across his cheek—he gasped and moaned in the same breath.</p><p>“Oh fuck, baby,” he panted, face stinging hotly, “yes.”</p><p>“Fuck me hard,” she said with a commanding smack of her hand on his shoulder, and he obeyed instantly, pounding into her as rhythmic as a war drum, surrendering to her power over him while at the same time taking control of the pleasure she felt; he loved the way her voice caught in her throat, the gasped noises she made with each thrust.</p><p>But there was only so much he could hold back, only so long he could wait. She felt too good. “Elizabeth,” he groaned hoarsely. “I’m—”</p><p>She didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. “Come for me,” she urged, “come for me,” and he did, his fingers whitely dug into the mattress, his face buried in the warm nook of her neck, his breath choked in his throat.</p><p>“God—fuck—yes,” he gasped as his hips crashed against hers and his cock jerked and tightened within her. Catching his breath, still buried inside her, his head dropped to her chest. “Oh my god. That was incredible.”</p><p>“Something to be said for the value of pain, isn’t there,” she murmured, oddly echoing his thoughts about the agony of training he put his body through.</p><p>He turned his head and rested his ear on the place above her heart, listening to its pace slow in the afterglow; at the same time, the psychic cock she had constructed for him ebbed to nothingness. “Why do you suppose that is?”</p><p>“Oh, maybe it has something to do with how your body processes cortisol and oxytocin, or with transient hypofrontality—”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“A sort of altered state of consciousness. The prefrontal part of your brain that handles the burdens of higher consciousness can take a backseat for a while in certain conditions. Like a runner’s high. Or having your partner flog you during sex.”</p><p>“That’s a more scientific answer than I expected.”</p><p>“Psych PhD. Sorry.” She kissed the top of his head. “In layman’s terms, it just feels fucking good to let go sometimes. You’ve never done that with anyone before?”</p><p>“I, uh. I haven’t been with many people. There was a girl when I was a kid. Like 16, I mean. She was sweet as could be. An exchange student from Japan. We fooled around a lot. Then women I'd meet at bars before I came here. Short-term stuff. A couple nights of crashing at their place before I hit the road again.”</p><p>“And Jean.”</p><p>“Yeah. And Jean.” James cleared his throat. “So the opportunity just—” he shrugged “—never presented itself.”</p><p>Elizabeth sat up and gave him a devilish smirk. “Is that so?” She got off the bed and went to her closet, swung open the door; hung on the inside was an astonishing array of cuffs, belts, collars, harnesses, and paddles. “I think one might have just arisen, sir.” 
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Through the emptiness between the pinwheel-sprays of galaxies, she floats. Eons pass with each blink of her eyes. She exhales and the gases become planets. Her heartbeat is the ticking of the cosmic clock.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> On Earth, she floats—but in the rain and thunder. She is river, forest, ocean, magma. She sighs and the seasons change. Her breathing is the pressing of carbon into diamonds.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> She drifts to a dark street in a quiet suburb. A man she has never seen before but also knows well stands in the kitchen. Flower petals bloom from his hands, flutter to the floor. They pulsate, bright as stars.</em>
</p><p>“I love you, babe.” <em>His lips don’t move but she hears him clearly. They kiss. His mouth is a flower. His teeth and tongue are flowers.</em></p><p>
  <em> Her hands stroke his face, curiously at first, as if it’s the first human face she’s ever encountered. Her nails rest on his skin. Then pop into it. He screams. She claws at his flesh, pulling muscle cleanly from the white bone. He screams and screams and screams.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> She laughs.</em>
</p><p>Jean’s eyes snapped open, her breath strangled in her throat. She blinked hard, trying to clear away the fog of the dream. The nightmares were growing more frequent, more intense, just like the intrusive thoughts she was having during wakefulness. Maybe it was just stress, she told herself. The conflict chewing at her expressing itself—albeit in very unpleasant ways.</p><p>Scott came into the room, freshly shaved, wearing a crisp button-up and khakis. A tablet was in his hands, which he scrolled with a forefinger. “I’ve messaged the team,” he said without looking at Jean. “We’ll have a briefing with the Professor at ten, after everyone has a chance to get some breakfast. Speaking of, what sounds good to you?”</p><p>She rubbed her face, the memory of what she psychically heard last night coming back to her. “I don’t know. I’m not really hungry.”</p><p>“Don’t be silly, babe.” He tapped on the tablet’s screen. “You need to eat something. I’ll make coffee and eggs.”</p><p>“Maybe just some plain toast.”</p><p>“Sunny-side, nice and runny just like you like it. Get dressed. See you downstairs.” He kissed the top of her head and left the room again.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>The crunch of broad yellow and red oak leaves under their boots. Jack o’lanterns on the front porches of the neighborhood houses. He walks his bike unsteadily with one arm on the handlebars, her book bag slung over his shoulder, her violin case clutched in his free hand.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I was thinking,” he says, not looking at her, “maybe, if you don’t have other plans, maybe you’d wanna go to the dance with me?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> She laughs, but not cruelly. “A girl can’t take a girl to the dance.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> He stops walking. “I’m not a girl.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Everyone thinks you are.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Everyone’s wrong.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> The wind whips her long black hair around her face like a scarf. She pulls it from her lips and looks at him.“I like you how you are.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Ok, but I’m not a girl.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> She reaches a hand out and pushes it through his mohawk’s loose curls. “Ok. I don’t want you to be a girl anyway.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Why do you say that?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> She smiles, a little shyly. “You are a silly boy if you don’t know.” She starts walking again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey!” He hurries to follow her. “You can’t say shit like that and just walk away.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> She’s laughing again, quickening her pace. The front wheel of his bike wobbles, he drops her bag, scrambles to pick it up, drags his bike as she leaves the sidewalk and cuts through the patch of woods that separates their houses. He loses sight of her as he fumbles with the bag and the case and the bike.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey! Mariko!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> A soft laugh from behind a wide oak tree. She leans against its thick trunk, hands folded behind her back.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Asshole,” he says with a grin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> She pouts. “I’m not. I’m a girl. Therefore, I am a bitch.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> He laughs. “Ok. You’re a bitch.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Tsk. Boys should not call girls bitches.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> He shakes his head. “I give up, I can’t win with you. Come on, let’s go.” He shoulders her bag and turns to start walking again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Wait.” Her voice is quiet and tremulous, like the low string of a violin. “I’m glad you’re not a girl,” she says softly, eyes flicking downward, “because I have been wanting you to kiss me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> If it weren’t for the cage of his ribs, his heart might break out of his body and fly into the sky. He lets his bike and the bag drop, sets her violin case down. He steps closer to her. When she looks up at him, her eyes are huge, the pale autumn light making them into pools of rich honey. The curve of her face nestles perfectly into the palm of his hand. He leans forward and brushes her mouth with his. Peach Bellini lip gloss. The rise and fall of her breasts under her sweater, against his chest. The smell of dryer sheets, of botanical shampoo.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> The noxious tang of chemicals.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Blind. Something covering his head, metallic—a helmet. A hose in his nostrils.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Humming machines, beeping computers. Mumbling voices. One calls him a girl.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> His heart burns. His lungs burn. He tries to scream, to kick.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> A cold needle slides into a vein. Into another vein. Into another vein. His veins burn. He wants to scream…</em>
</p><p>“James? James! Wake up, luv.” Elizabeth had her hands on his face, stroking the hair off his forehead, caressing his cheeks.</p><p>He jerked upright, the claws of both his hands flashing out, a low rumble echoing in his chest, eyes still unseeing.</p><p>“Hey! Hey.” She held her own hands up, palms facing him to show she wasn’t a threat. “James, you need to wake up. It’s ok. You were just dreaming.” She reached into his mind with hers, soothing it as a mother might rock a fussy infant. “Relax, luv. It’s ok.”</p><p>Breathing hard, he squinted in the hot morning sun that fell across them. “Jean?”</p><p>Her jaw clenched. “No,” she said after a moment. “Elizabeth. Remember?”</p><p>“Elizabeth?” He looked her full in the face now, at last recognizing where he was. “I—I guess I was dreaming.” The details were already falling away from his mind like dead leaves, blowing away to nothingness.</p><p>“Yes, you were. D’you mind not pointing those things at me please?”</p><p>He looked at the long adamantium claws that arced out of the backs of each of his fists, gleaming whitely in the daylight. “Fuck. Sorry.” They retracted into his flesh with a familiar sting.</p><p>“What happened with Mariko?” she asked casually as he got out of bed and pulled his jeans on, untangled his tank top from the pile of implements from last night’s play.</p><p>“Why’d you ask that?”</p><p>“You were dreaming about her.”</p><p>He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t like having my mind poked around in.”</p><p>“I was just trying to keep you from stabbing me. And I wasn’t ‘poking around’—you were practically screaming her name. Your deep dark secrets are still deep and dark.”</p><p>He sat down on the bed to pull on his boots.</p><p>“So. Mariko?”</p><p>“Why are you so interested?”</p><p>“Why are you so resistant to letting anyone get to know you?” She draped her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself into his back. “I know you’ve been hurt. But believe me, it’s possible to trust people and let them into your life without it hurting.”</p><p>He lifted a hand and squeezed her arm. After a long moment, he said “We dated for almost a year. Til the exchange program ended. She wanted to stay in B.C. but couldn’t extend her student visa. I think her parents wanted her home to graduate high school anyway. We tried to make the distance work. Video chat dates.” He gave a little chuckle. “Hell, I even wrote her old-fashioned letters. We made a lot of grandiose plans—I was gonna go to Japan, she was gonna get through university and then we’d go back to Canada and get married. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”</p><p>Elizabeth scooted around so she was sitting next to him. “What did you think?”</p><p>“I thought she was the one. I thought: how lucky I am to have met my soulmate already.” A shrug. But it doesn’t work that way.”</p><p>“She met someone else?”</p><p>His eyes burned. He shook his head. “Weapon X. They took me when I was 18.” His bottom lip trembled. “My god, she must have thought I was so cruel. When the calls and letters stopped coming from me. She must hate my guts now.”</p><p>Elizabeth slid her hands into his. “Did you try finding her when you escaped?”</p><p>He nodded. She could see tears rimming his eyelids but he would not let them fall. “Called the number I had for her, sent a few letters to her address. New person had the number. Never got a reply to the letters.” The back of his hand swiped his eyes and he abruptly got to his feet. “Anyway. Long story short, to answer your question, I don’t know what happened to her.”</p><p>“James, I’m so sorry. There has to be a way we could find her. Maybe she has a social media account or—”</p><p>“I’ve looked. If she does, it’s not under her name. Maybe she’s married and has a new name. It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past now. I wouldn’t know what to say to her anyway.”</p><p>“Don’t you think it would help your healing process to be able to talk to her? What happened to you at Weapon X was severely traumatic. You could benefit a great deal from—”</p><p>“Hey.” A sharp syllable. He turned to face her and there was no sign that he had been close to tears a moment ago. Brows furrowed, jaw squarely set. “No more therapy today, doc, ok?”</p><p>“Fair enough. I just thought since we explored your penchant for physical pain last night, you might feel open to discussing the emotional kind this morning.”</p><p>“I’m open to steak and eggs, and getting the hell outta Dodge.”</p><p>“You’re still going to leave? Where are you going to go?”</p><p>“Not sure. Just ride for a while.”</p><p>“What about Jean?”</p><p>“What about her? She’s got the Boy Scout.”</p><p>Elizabeth bent down and retrieved something from the floor. She stood and came to James, dangling the handcuffs on a finger. “What about me?”</p><p>“Last night was fun,” he said, “but—”</p><p>“Don’t get me wrong, luv. I’m not asking you to stay and be my boyfriend. That’s my least favorite way to be tied down. But last night <em>was</em> fun, and I had hoped we didn’t have to see it end just yet. It wouldn’t kill you to stick around another few days, would it?”</p><p>“I guess it wouldn’t,” he agreed before his lips covered hers. As the kiss deepened, the tinny sound of his phone went off: Slayer’s “I Hate You,” the programmed ringtone for Cyclops.</p><p>“What the fuck does he want,” James grumbled, pulling the phone from his back pocket. At the same instant, Elizabeth’s phone began tinkling where it rested on the bedside table.</p><p>Elizabeth kissed him quickly before going to grab the phone. “He messaged me too. Whatever it is, it must be important.”</p><p>“I think maybe I should just leave after all.”</p><p>“Why? Because of Scott?”</p><p>“Let’s face it, he and I are never gonna be buddies. And if this” —he held up his phone— “is a new mission, I’m not sure I’m up for going.”</p><p>“You’re as much an X-Man as any of us.” Elizabeth wrapped a finger around the unruly curl that fell onto his forehead, pulled it back in place. “Besides, a little brawling could be good for you. Let off some steam.”</p><p>“Is that your professional prescription, doc?”</p><p>Elizabeth grinned, hands tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “Well, part of it.”</p><p>He licked the length of her throat, making her sigh. “And the other part?”</p><p>Her nails pressed crescent-moons into his back as she drew him down over her on the bed. “Don’t worry, it also involves letting off steam.” She kissed him deeply, then maneuvered him so he was on his back. The cuffs clicked in place on his wrists before he realized they were even in her hands. She linked the other ends to the posts of her bed, then slid off the bed and picked up a rawhide flogger. “Maybe a little more therapy, don’t you think?” she purred as she trailed the tips of the tails down his chest. 
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The War Room’s doors hissed open. Already seated around the long, curved table were Piotr, Rogue, Ororo, Kitty, and Hank. Piotr was munching a quadruple-stacked sausage and egg sandwich. Jean and Scott stood next to the Professor in his wheelchair in front of the bank of monitors that faced the table.</p><p>“Oops,” Elizabeth said as she and James walked in. “Sorry, everyone.”</p><p>“I messaged you three hours ago,” Scott said. “You have no excuse for being late.”</p><p>“Pull the stick out of your ass,” said James, tapping the face of his wristwatch. “It’s only been ten minutes.”</p><p>“James.” Professor Xavier’s clipped accent was curt.</p><p>James shrugged as apology and took a chair at the far end of the table, away from the rest of the team.</p><p>“Let’s get started,” Scott said, pressing a button on the clicker in his hand. Immediately the monitors illuminated with different images: one of Graydon Creed in his custom suit; one of a stretch of jewel-toned beach; many of video footage of rioting crowds—red-faced, screaming humans holding anti-mutant signs, throwing rocks or bottles at mutants of various shapes and descriptions, smashing windows of private homes.</p><p>“Friends of Humanity has claimed responsibility for the deaths of nearly twenty mutants,” Scott began, “<em>within one week</em>. They are actively inciting violence against mutants, and their exhortations are leading directly to murder. Graydon Creed, the organization’s ringleader, is promising to cover legal fees and other services for any human who faces criminal charges. He is also paying out bribes to community law enforcement groups to look the other way or to suppress or destroy evidence that would convict a human offender under the Mutants Rights Act.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Rogue said softly.</p><p>“Rogue, Wolverine, Psylocke. You will accompany me to Creed’s current base in Florida to apprehend him as peacefully as possible.”</p><p>“How are we supposed to do that? Dude like that’s bound to have more security’n the pope. Just the three of us are gonna grab ’im?”</p><p>“My hope is that we can avoid a violent confrontation with him by keeping our numbers low. The fewer of us there are, the less attention we’ll attract. Psylocke will provide our main muscle—telepathically incapacitating Creed until we can get him on the Blackbird.”</p><p>Ororo spoke. “Is that not walking a thin ethical line, Cyclops? We have all agreed to not use our powers against humans, even when facing the risks they present.”</p><p>Scott looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight as he glanced at Xavier who remained stony-faced and unmoving beside him. “Creed and the Friends of Humanity are terrorists. And, unfortunately, the United States government is refusing to acknowledge them as such, let alone take actions to prevent them from murdering more mutants. I think the ethical questions of using a telepath to temporarily redirect Creed’s energy are negligible.”</p><p>“I must disagree,” Ororo replied. “It is a slippery slope away from our position as ambassadors of mutant good will if we begin manipulating humans’ minds.”</p><p>“If I may, since I’m sitting right here,” Elizabeth chimed in. “We’re not talking about me reprogramming his neural pathways. I believe what our fearless leader expects is for me to keep him unconscious long enough to apprehend him.”</p><p>Scott nodded. “Precisely. Mental castration is not our goal. Submission is.”</p><p>“I’m curious,” said Kitty, at last looking up from the notepad she had been earnestly scribbling in since the briefing began, “what happens when we have Creed back here? What then?”</p><p>“I will handle Creed once he’s here,” Xavier answered in a measured tone. “Your mission is simply to ensure that he arrives blindly and alone.”</p><p>Jean’s eyes flicked from the team members debating the ethics and risks of the mission to James’ face. He was attentive but clearly uninterested, leaning back in his chair and propping his head up with a couple of fingers. A small smile suddenly tugged at the corners of his mouth and an eyebrow arched, and he looked down the length of the table to where Elizabeth sat. Her tongue swiped her lips in subtle, but unmistakable, meaning.</p><p><em>What the hell do you think you’re doing?</em> Jean couldn’t help it. The telepathic message was zapped to Elizabeth’s mind before she could stop herself.</p><p>Elizabeth looked surprised, then a slow smile spread on her lips. <em>Believe it or not, </em>she thought back, <em>I’m helping you.</em></p><p><em>You’ll forgive my skepticism. </em>Jean’s tone was sour.</p><p>“Phoenix?” Xavier’s voice broke her concentration.</p><p>“I—ah, I’m sorry, Professor. You were saying?”</p><p>Xavier looked unhappy, but made no comment on her distraction. “Will you provide everyone with Creed’s dossier after the briefing? And since Cyclops has decided to have Psylocke attend this mission, I want her to have Creed’s psychological profile in particular.”</p><p>Blood burned in Jean’s face and she had to take a couple deep breaths before she could answer. “Not a problem, sir.”</p><p>“Good. Storm, I’d like you to run base ops for the away team. Keep me informed.”</p><p>Ororo nodded. “Of course.”</p><p>Piotr raised one beefy hand politely. “And I?”</p><p>“You and Shadowcat will be on standby here to provide back up, if necessary,” Scott replied. “Rogue is correct that Creed has a large complement of bodyguards with him at all times. Beast, per usual, will be on hand in sick bay in case of any injuries. ”</p><p>The enormous, blue-furred doctor grinned and wagged a finger. “No crying if there’s no blood.”</p><p>“All right, crew,” Scott said. “Be in the hanger tomorrow at 9 a.m. Wolverine, I expect you to be twenty minutes early.”</p><p>“What the fuck for?”</p><p>“You’re a member of this team,” Scott shot back sharply, “and you had better start acting like it. That means being accountable for your actions and following orders.”</p><p>“Or what?” James got to his feet. “I don’t get to play with the big boys? Ouch, my feelings.”</p><p>“James, please—”</p><p>“Forget it, Jean. I stuck around this morning because I wanted to hear what the Boy Scout had to say. Well, I heard it. And I think there’s better things I can do with my time.”</p><p>Jean swallowed painfully. “James…” She felt Scott staring hard at her as the tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t care.</p><p>“Thanks for everything, Prof,” James said to Xavier, pulling out his wallet. He lifted out eight twenties, dropped them on Xavier's lap. “This should cover the wall and the punching bag.”</p><p>Before anyone could say anything else, James stormed out of the War Room, grabbing his duffel from the hallway floor, and headed out the front door, toward the covered garage where he parked his vintage Bonneville. Someone followed him. “James!” He grit his teeth, determined not to turn to look at her.</p><p>“Jean!” Scott’s voice behind them.</p><p>“James, please!” Her pace increased and her hand grabbed his arm. He whirled and, in the same motion, snatched her around her waist and jerked her body into his. He could taste her hot tears as their lips crushed together. Her breath was thin when they parted, her voice unsteady. “I don’t want you to leave.”</p><p>“Oh, darlin’. I don’t belong here. It’s clear as day to everyone.” He looked past her and gestured with his chin at where Scott stood on the wide porch watching them, rigid as a coffin. “Especially him.”</p><p>She glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to James, her face wet. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him understand how I feel. Please. Stay.”</p><p>“You’re right. You are selfish.” He kissed her again, very softly this time. “But I am too. What about what I want?”</p><p>“I thought you wanted to be with me.”</p><p>“More than anything. But if there’s any lesson this world’s taught me, it’s that wanting doesn’t mean getting. I wanna be happy, Jean. Someday, somehow. Let’s be real. I won’t ever be if I stay here, trying to be something I’m not, having to watch you and him have your life together.”</p><p>“There’s room in my heart for you both.”</p><p>“Does he know that? And is that what he wants?”</p><p>James stepped away from her and climbed on the bike, slinging his bag across his shoulders and tightening the strap. He hit the kick-start and revved the gas until the engine started to thrum. “Take care of yourself, beautiful.”</p><p>“James, I love you.”</p><p>The bike’s throaty exhaust notes, the rumble of its wide-open throttle, echoed in Jean’s ears long after he was out of sight.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You want to tell me exactly what the hell that was?” Scott slammed the bedroom door hard enough to make the windows rattle.</p><p>“No, Scott.” Jean pressed her fingers into her eyes until stars of light appeared on her lids. “I don’t really want to talk to you at all right now.”</p><p>“Well, too bad. You humiliated me in front of the team, do you realize that?”</p><p>“I’m not fighting with you right now.” Her voice remained even and steady. “So you may as well stop yelling and stomping around.”</p><p>“Are you in love with him?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Startled at the calm frankness of her reply, the tension went out of his body like a deflating balloon. “But… what about me?”</p><p>“I love you very much, although right now I’m not at all happy with you. I’ll message everyone the information on Creed, as the Professor requested. But I don’t want to see you or talk to you for a while. Please leave.”</p><p>“Jean—”</p><p>“Please leave, Scott.”</p><p>Slowly, he did as she asked.</p><p>***</p><p>The honky-tonk was dark, smoky, and the decor didn’t seem to have been updated since 1988. The few scattered patrons looked like they’d also been sitting there for three decades. Johnny Paycheck was drawling on the jukebox and the woman behind the bar wore an eyepatch. “Whatcha want, son?” she said in a voice made of Marlboro Lights.</p><p>James put a fifty on the bar top. “Whiskey. As much as this’ll get me.”</p><p>“A little young for you to be so tore up over a broad, ain’tcha?” She replaced the bill with a fifth of Jack and two glasses.</p><p>“That obvious?”</p><p>“It’s 2 o’clock on a Monday afternoon, you look like you just saw your dog get run over, and you’re looking to get shitfaced.” She filled the glasses, scooted one toward him. “What’s her name, son?”</p><p>James scrubbed his hands through his hair, picked up the glass, and drained it in one long fiery swallow. He clunked the glass down hard. “Doesn’t matter.”</p><p>The bartender shrugged, knocked back her own drink in two gulps, refilled their glasses.</p><p>“I didn’t realize I was buying you drinks.”</p><p>She threw her head back and laughed, a hearty cackle. “Don’t worry, son, I’ll keep our tabs separate.”</p><p>James lifted the whiskey, stared into it for a moment. “You know,” he said quietly, “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me ‘son’ before.”</p><p>The bartender squinted her eye at him. “You ok?”</p><p>He swallowed the whiskey, poured another, swallowed, poured, swallowed. “Not in the fucking least.”</p><p>“Hey.” She wrapped her hand around the neck of the bottle as he reached for it again, pulled it away. “You can’t drink like that.”</p><p>“I seem to be doing a good job of it so far” he said with only the faintest hint of a slur.</p><p>“Look, kid, I get that you got your heart broke, but I can’t over-serve you, ok? I don’t want no trouble. Here’s your change.” She put a ten and a twenty on the bar.</p><p>“All I want is a drink.” James slammed his fist on the bar top, and his claws popped.</p><p>“Jesus! A goddamn mutant!” The bartender reached under the counter and fumbled for the old aluminum bat hidden there. “You gotta leave. Right now. Or I’m calling the cops.”</p><p>A large bearded man in a trucker hat appeared behind him. “You ok, Millie? This freak of nature hurt you?”</p><p>“I’m leaving.” James sheathed his claws, tucking his money in his wallet as he got off the barstool. “Fucking rednecks,” he muttered as he shoved past the trucker.</p><p>“What’d you say, cocksucker?”</p><p>James leveled his eyes at the other man, toe to toe, even though the trucker had at least half a foot on him. “I said you’re a squirrel-eating, sister-humping, limp-dicked hillbilly.”</p><p>The fat fist cracked into James’ nose, snapping his head back and sending blood spraying. With a roar, James drove his shoulder into the man’s belly, knocking him off balance. He got a few solid punches to the kidneys in before the trucker’s clasped fists came down on the back of his neck like a sledge. James dropped to the floor, vision momentarily browned out. He pushed himself to his knees and snarled “Ya gotta do better than that, ballsack.”</p><p>“I don’t believe it” the trucker said with genuine wonder in his voice. “I’ve hit guys twice his size like that and they went out like a light.”</p><p>“Throw him out on his ass,” Millie yelled, and James felt himself being lifted by his shirt. As soon as his boots hit the floor, he launched himself around, swinging his arm in a wide arc but still effectively connecting it to the trucker’s jaw. Back the trucker stumbled, and James kicked the heel of his boot into his chest, toppling the larger man into a table and chair set.</p><p>The sharp <em>kerrang! </em>of the bat on the back of his skull briefly knocked his eyesight dark again. He stumbled but stayed on his feet. Spun to face Millie. “Lady, I’ve never hit a woman before and I don’t wanna start today, so you better back the fuck off.”</p><p>Her eye was wide and she held the bat in front of her with shaking hands. “Please, just leave.”</p><p>The claws <em>snikt</em>ed out and flashed toward her. The top half of the aluminum bat clanged to the floor. Millie dropped the other half, mouth hanging open in astonishment and fear.</p><p>James wiped the dripping blood from his face and flicked it onto the floor. “Just wanted a goddamn drink.”</p><p>As he opened the bar’s door to the bright daylight, the trucker’s voice: “I ain’t done with you yet, asshole.”</p><p>James felt the hard muzzle of a pistol press into the back of his skull. There was no time to think. He was a blur. The trucker shrieked as the claws sliced through the meat and bone of his forearm. He dropped to his knees, still screaming, clutching the stump where his hand used to be.</p><p>Someone had called the cops. James could hear sirens, miles away, but approaching fast. He leapt on the Bonneville, jump-kicking it to life and praying the engine hadn’t cooled so much that it wouldn’t let him open the choke. Luck was on his side, and he gunned the engine and peeled out. If his luck held, no one inside the grubby little honky-tonk had gotten a look at his bike, and he’d get across the state line on this tank of gas. He hadn’t shown an ID. He’d paid cash.</p><p>On the interstate, heading south, the balmy sun drying the blood on his face and his hands, the wind whipping his hair, the Bonneville’s engine like a live animal between his legs, James grinned. He was flat out. And it felt good.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elizabeth found Jean doing laps in the pool. She perched on the edge at the deep end and dipped her legs into the water. When Jean lifted her head to gulp air, Elizabeth said “I think we ought to have a chat.”</p><p>Jean wiped water from her eyes with one hand, holding herself steady against the pool wall with the other. “About what, exactly? You’ve slept with both of the men I have feelings for. Are we supposed to compare notes, or what?”</p><p>Elizabeth smiled. “I know you think I seduced James to steal him from you and—”</p><p>“I do not think that,” Jean said, aware that she sounded exceptionally defensive.</p><p>Elizabeth shrugged. “In any case, you resent me sleeping with him after you did. I want you to know that I did it to give you and Scott some breathing room.”</p><p>“How selfless of you.” Jean kicked off the wall and began breast-stroking to the other end. When she reached it, Elizabeth was already there, feet on the pool steps.</p><p>“James has a lot of conflicting feelings,” Elizabeth continued as if there’d been no pause in the conversation. “He’s crazy about you but he despises Scott. He wants to be a good person and help others, but he’s bitter over what’s happened to him and mistrustful of everyone. He has a lot of deep-rooted anger, fears of abandonment, and unresolved guilt and shame about his life and his identity. Not to mention the raw trauma he’s still processing after Weapon X. Meanwhile, it seems to me that Scott wants to have his cake and eat it too, while being reluctant to make space for you to explore other facets of your desires and needs.”</p><p>“If I wanted a therapy session, I’d have set up an appointment.” Jean lapped to the deep end again.</p><p>“And then there’s you and me,” Elizabeth said when Jean resurfaced. “There’s no call for us to be besties, of course. I think we have a reasonably respectful working relationship, despite whatever personal feelings one may have for the other.” She smiled a little again at the purposely ambiguous statement. The bottom line is, you and Scott have a lot of things to work through. How you want your relationship to thrive and how it can stay healthy without resenting each other. I’m happy to remove myself from the equation, regarding Scott. But James doesn’t have the maturity or emotional capacity to remove himself from you.”</p><p>“He left, didn’t he? I’d say that’s pretty well removed.”</p><p>“He left physically, but that doesn’t mean he’s left what he feels behind.”</p><p>“And you can change that?”</p><p>“No. At least not as easily as you put it.” Elizabeth leaned forward, lowering her sunglasses on her nose. “What I <em>can</em> do is help him learn to express what he wants, to understand his emotional responses, and to act on them in healthy ways.”</p><p>An uncomfortable sense of jealousy rumbled inside of Jean as she chewed on Elizabeth’s words. She understood Elizabeth’s intentions, and knew she was right: having to do the emotional labor required by each of the men she loved right now would be too much. Scott, her primary partner, had to be her priority; she loved James—she didn’t regret admitting it—but she wasn’t ready to sacrifice the relationship she had built with Scott on the altar of her feelings for James. Still, Elizabeth was talking about helping James in ways that she wished she could, and that prickled.</p><p>Aware that Elizabeth was scrutinizing her face, at last she said “But he’s gone. Isn’t all of this academic now?”</p><p>“Luv, you’re a telepath like me. Surely you sensed his thoughts.” Elizabeth stood up and adjusted her sunglasses. “Tell Cyclops you’re accompanying him to Florida instead of me.” She started walking away.</p><p>“Hey, wait a second.” Jean splashed her way out of the pool, grabbing her towel and following Elizabeth to the gate. “What are you talking about? Why aren’t you going?”</p><p>Elizabeth cupped Jean’s cheek, slowly slid her fingers down the line of the other woman’s jaw, and touched Jean’s lower lip with her thumb with distinctly erotic meaning. Then she dropped her hand and the electricity dissipated as if it had never been there. “Because I’m going after James.”</p><p>The hot sun beat down on Jean’s freckled shoulders, rapidly drying the water droplets on her skin. She watched Elizabeth walk back to the mansion, not even aware of how the pavement was burning her feet.</p><p>***</p><p>Humming an operatic aria, Dr. Hank McCoy opened the aperture on Cyclops’ ruby-quartz visor. “No damage to the diaphragm,” he said, more to himself than to Scott. He continued his inspection of the instrument, his large, blue-furred, claw-tipped fingers surprisingly gentle with the delicate mechanics. “Jewel bearings intact, solenoids in good condition. Have you adjusted the fit recently?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“And the headaches occur with both the visor and your aviator frames?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Well, bearing in mind that a thorough ophthalmic exam is necessary for accurate diagnosis, my guess is your headaches are originating from strain caused by mismeasured interpupillary distance or a simple refractive error occurring due to abnormally shaped corneas.” He smiled at Scott’s wrinkled expression and handed the visor back. “Nearsightedness.”</p><p>“You’re kidding.”</p><p>“My dear fellow, myopia is hardly a laughing matter. Left untreated, it can cause the retina to stretch, eventually tearing the macula and leading to intraocular hemorrhage. This can result in irreversible vision loss and even blindness.” Hank spun his chair away from Scott to face his computer bank. “Let me get in touch with Moira. It’ll take a day or two, but I can refit an autorefractor with ruby-quartz lenses in order to take a proper look at your baby blues—er. Baby reds? What the hell color are your eyes anyway?”</p><p>“Brown,” Scott said flatly.</p><p>“‘Beautiful daughter couldn't make up her mind,’” Hank warbled as he typed, “‘between a doctor and a lawyer man…Mama told her darlin’ go out and find yourself a brown-eyed handsome man, just like your daddy is a—’”</p><p>“Is there anything we can do until then?” Scott interrupted with exasperation.</p><p>Hank shrugged his big shoulders which strained against the fabric of his lab coat. “Aspirin. Rest your eyes as much as possible.”</p><p>Scott rose to leave. “Thanks,” he muttered.</p><p>“‘That’s what the trouble was, a brown-eyed handsome man,’” he heard Hank singing as he exited the infirmary and headed for the hanger.</p><p>As he walked the long halls of the mansion’s subbasement, he thought about Jean. More precisely, he thought about how she had looked when she kissed James goodbye. The memory seethed and roiled like an angry ocean. And yet, his heart hurt for Jean’s. Could he put aside his resentment of James if it meant making Jean happy?</p><p>He punched the code for the hanger into the pad, sighing. James infuriated him—but why? Scott took everything so seriously, tried so hard to maintain control and responsibility, while James seemingly had no respect for anyone or anything. James was a tempest, a lone wolf to use the Professor’s words. Maybe that was why Scott begrudged him. Scott’s whole life had been structured around discipline and self-control; first the burden of taking care of his brother as kids, then the responsibilities of leadership as an X-Man. Maybe, he thought with gloomy reluctance, he envied James’ capriciousness.</p><p>He began his pre-flight inspection of the Blackbird, trying to push the recent drama to the back of his mind and concentrate on the task at hand. He was so focused on calibrating the cloaking device that he didn’t hear someone else enter the hanger.</p><p>“I think I’m ready to talk now.” Jean’s voice so startled him that he banged his head on the flight deck’s ceiling as he jumped to his feet. “Sorry.” A faint smile on her lips.</p><p>“It’s ok.” He rubbed his scalp and gestured to the empty copilot’s seat.</p><p>Jean sat, chewing on a cuticle. “So,” she began quietly, “I think I owe you an apology.”</p><p>Scott took her hands in his, squeezed them gently. “No, I owe <em>you</em> one.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’ve been turning everything over and over in my head. You’ve never made me feel unloved, even when we disagreed about” —he hesitated to say James’ name— “our arrangement. You were always clear and direct with me about what you wanted and what you felt. And when I saw how upset you were when he left, how it broke your heart, I realized that there is more to this situation than I’ve been open to dealing with. If it were just sex, you wouldn’t hurt so badly. And, Jean, I love you. So the last thing I want is to see you in pain.”</p><p>Jean’s eyes glistened. She sniffed, quickly wiped her face. “What are you saying?”</p><p>“I was wrong to get so angry. I should have worked harder at keeping my feelings in perspective. For that, I’m very sorry.”</p><p>Jean pressed her lips hard on Scott’s. “Thank you. That means the world to me.”</p><p>Scott dropped his face from her’s. “I’m sorry that he left.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Because it hurt you. Not because I think he belongs with the X-Men. I understand that you love him, but he still pisses me the hell off.”</p><p>“That’s fair,” Jean said with a small laugh.</p><p>“So. What happens next?”</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>A long moment of silence filled the Blackbird. Finally Scott said softly “I need to finish the pre-flight checks. The mission is still on. Colossus will take Wolverine’s place.”</p><p>“He’s not exactly a subtle replacement, is he? A guy that size is bound to draw attention.”</p><p>“At this point, I’m not sure if subtlety would make much difference.” He wanted to confide his fears about Xavier’s intentions, but swallowed the words. “In any case, Psylocke will be able to provide telepathic cover for us.”</p><p>“Ah.” Jean cleared her throat. “Yes, Scott, about that…”</p><p>***</p><p>Bottle-green water rolled in from the Gulf, lazily breaking on the sugar-white beach. The sun was oven-hot, falling without mercy on the sunburned tourists in neon bathing suits, the coeds chugging margaritas, the shrieking kids playing with cheap inflatable balls and plastic buckets and shovels.</p><p>Graydon Creed—wearing tropical print swim trunks, expensive sunglasses, and cheap sandals—sat in the cool shade of the open beachfront bar called The Shipwreck, sipping an electric blue cocktail at a small table that faced the waves. A rotund, balding man in a size-too-small sheriff’s uniform sat beside him, sweating so abundantly that he looked as if he’d just stepped out of a shower—only partly because of the humidity. The other reasons loomed behind him: a hulking mountain of a man with long blonde hair, extraordinarily sharp fingernails, and the black, cold eyes of a shark; and a leanly muscled man with unsettlingly white skin and bright red eyes. Both of Creed’s bodyguards kept their arms crossed over their chests, standing ramrod-straight.</p><p>“As much as I want to give you the permits to close off the streets,” the sheriff said, patting his face with a handkerchief, “I’m afraid it goes beyond my power to pull the strings for that paperwork to go through before Thursday. You have full access to any public space you want, so long as you don’t block traffic. We have a few lovely parks that—”</p><p>Creed’s waved hand dismissed the sheriff’s stammer. “A park will be fine. I know it was short notice. I had thought it would be best to close the streets simply to save your force the headache. These rallies tend to draw bigger crowds than most towns anticipate. Anti-mutant sentiment runs deeper through our communities than many people realize. The concerns and fears humans have regarding these aberrations is nearly universal, in all walks of life.”</p><p>The sheriff’s eyes darted to his periphery. “Can I ask, uh, why then—”</p><p>“The mutant bodyguards?” Creed slurped his cocktail and smiled. “Mutants <em>can</em> be useful, Sheriff. I’m not interested in eradicating all of mutantkind. Just the ones who refuse to submit to the superiority of the human race.” He scoffed at the sheriff’s expression. “Come now, let’s not wring our hands over this. We’re both grown men, we should speak bluntly.”</p><p>“It’s just.” The sheriff coughed, began again. “My granddaddy was black. In the 60s. He faced a lot of discrimination and violence. He—”</p><p>“Please don’t misunderstand my position, sheriff. It is not against humans of color. In fact, quite the opposite, I believe earnestly that humans of all different races, backgrounds, and religions can and should work together in opposition of mutants. Surely you can see the difference.”</p><p>The sheriff stared out at the Gulf for a moment. Then glanced back at the mountainous bodyguard at his left side. “When I was a kid,” he said softly, “a mutant killed my best friend’s brother. We were down at the river, doing a little fishing. Up come this… this <em>gator</em>-man out of the water. Covered in scales, had inch-long teeth. Me and Billy took off running, but Sam wasn’t fast as us. Gator-man ripped his arms clean off. Poor boy bled to death on the banks.” The sheriff’s jowls quivered at the memory, his eyes glassily looking back in time.</p><p>Creed pulled off his sunglasses and leaned forward sympathetically. “I meet so many men and women who have similar stories, Sheriff. You’re not alone in your grief and fear. Mutants who cannot be controlled are little more than mindless animals. And what do we do when a rabid dog tears through the neighborhood?”</p><p>The sheriff blinked rapidly and nodded. “You’re right, Mr. Creed.”</p><p>“You’re a good man, Sheriff.” Creed reached for the laptop bag at his feet, unzipped an outer pocket and withdrew a plain white envelope with a rubber band around it. Unceremoniously, he slid it across the table. “Think of this as small recompense for the pain you and your deputies and family and friends have had to endure under the oppression of the Mutant Rights Act.”</p><p>For a moment the sheriff eyed the envelope as if it were a snake. Mouth twitching, he finally picked it up and put it in the breast pocket of his uniform. “Thank you.” He stood up, adjusting his hat on his head. He stuck out a plump hand to shake Creed’s. “If there’s anything else you need, you have my number. I’m looking forward to seeing you Thursday morning.”</p><p>Creed pushed his sunglasses back up his nose. “It’ll be my pleasure,” he said with an oily smile.</p><p>When the sheriff was gone, Creed reached into the laptop bag again, and this time pulled out a small phone-shaped device. “Well, boys, it’s about dinner time, isn’t it? Steak and lobster on me, whaddaya say?” He laughed at their unchanging, emotionless expressions. He tapped a brief sequence into the device’s keypad.</p><p>With audible beeps, the small interfaces affixed to the base of each of the bodyguard’s skulls lit up. The albino one unfolded his arms and pulled back the chair as Creed stood; the burly blonde one picked up Creed’s laptop case. Obediently, they followed him out of the bar, up the beach to the parking lot where his rental car was waiting. Wordlessly, the albino opened the driver’s side door for Creed, then he and the blonde arranged themselves in the backseat.</p><p>Creed activated the handsfree phone system. After a few rings, the other end clicked open. “On track for Thursday in Florida, sir,” Creed reported.</p><p>The voice on the end of the line was deep and enunciated its words in a thick, syrupy rumble. “Excellent. I shall join you shortly.”</p><p>Creed cleared his throat. “Sir, is there any chance of… expediting our bargain?”</p><p>A low chuckle. “Impatience is such a petty human trait, Creed. Our bargain stands as we agreed.”</p><p>“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Creed disconnected the call, grinding his teeth, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the humid air of Raleigh’s dusk, James picked up a couple meatball subs and a case of beer, found a decent motel off the interstate. He ate while watching an old horror movie, and started to feel almost like a normal person. He could pretend he was anyone in the world in the anonymity of this room, identical to all the other rooms in the anonymous building. If someone asked where he was from and where he was going, he could tell them anything. He cracked another beer and chugged it empty without breaking for breath.</p><p>The motel shower, needle-sharp and lava-hot, cut through his melancholy mood, reset his focus. He let the water sizzle on the back of his skull and the tops of his shoulders, watched the rivulets snake down his legs and disappear into the drain. He imagined the water carrying away every burdensome thought he’d ever had.</p><p>Abruptly, there was the click and squeak of the bathroom door opening. His heart leapt and instantaneously he popped the claws on both hands. Through the steamed shower glass, James could make out the curve of her hips, the cascade of her purple hair.</p><p>He sighed, retracted the claws. “Most people knock, you know.”</p><p>She had to raise her voice to reach him over the sound of the shower. “Nothing would insult me more than to be considered anything close to ‘most people.’”</p><p>He twisted the taps to shut off the water. “Toss me a towel, will you?”</p><p>He saw her indistinct form lift a towel from the rack but she stood holding it instead of flipping it over the stall. “You don’t want me to see you naked? After everything we’ve done?”</p><p>“Elizabeth. Come on.”</p><p>The towel landed on his head. He made a cursory pass over his body, then wrapped it tightly around his waist before sliding the door open. Elizabeth was leaning one hip against the counter, a wry smile on her lips. She was wearing a pair of tight high-waisted shorts and a striped halter that ended, invitingly, just above her navel. James wanted to kiss the lipstick off her mouth but willed himself to stay put, dripping onto the bath mat, while they regarded each other quietly for a moment.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” James said at last.</p><p>Elizabeth feigned interest in her manicure. “I thought maybe you’d get lonely on the road, want some company.”</p><p>“So you psychically followed me here and with your feminine charms persuaded the night manager to let you into my room.”</p><p>She held up a key card. “Something like that. Are you angry?”</p><p>“Not at all.”</p><p>“Good. Y’know, I was thinking on the flight down here about the first time we met. D’you remember?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“How handsome you looked, but how sad. I didn’t have to use my powers to feel what you felt. It came off you like cologne. I remember looking at your fingers when we shook hands. I thought they were beautiful. And I very badly wanted to have them on my face.”</p><p>“I remember not knowing what to say. Just staring into your eyes, thinking how beautiful you looked. Everything—you, the mansion, it was so” —he fumbled for the right word— “overwhelming.”</p><p>Elizabeth smiled. “You were dripping blood on the parquet floor of the entryway. Xavier had to practically drag you to the infirmary.”</p><p>He grinned. “Guess I do make a lot of messes, don’t I.”</p><p>“James.”</p><p>“Elizabeth.”</p><p>“Touch my face.”</p><p>Dreamily, he did as she said. The tips of his fingers grazed high along her cheek. She sighed and closed her eyes.</p><p>He wondered if he would ever stop feeling this way when he touched her, a kind of ferocious hunger clawing at his insides, a starving bear that could never be sated, a desire that pulsed and cried out rawly. He wondered if she could sense that in him, if that was part of what fed her. He wondered how she could possibly want him half as much as he wanted her. How could what he had to offer her ever be enough?</p><p>And then, like a cold blade twisting in his guts, he wondered why he was feeling this way about Elizabeth, when it was Jean he was in love with—wasn’t it?</p><p>Still, Jean dissolved from his mind like mist as Elizabeth took his hand and led him out to the bedroom. She peeled off the halter top but let him unsnap her bra and help her shrug out of it. He nuzzled and kissed her breasts, sucking each nipple until they were cherry-red and very hard, and her breath came in long sighs. James unbuttoned her shorts, and she wriggled her hips to help him pull them off, leaving her panties on. For a moment he simply looked at her, this extraordinary woman who wanted to be in his bed, who wanted something from him she could get from literally anyone in the world she desired. And, somehow, she desired <em>him</em>.</p><p>“What are you thinking?”</p><p>Words were unavailable. He did not know how to voice what was in his head; his thoughts were threads of fog, seemingly substantial but impossible to actually grab hold of and push out through his mouth. All he could give in answer was a hard kiss. Their tongues met and they shivered and sighed almost in perfect unison, electrically connected.</p><p>There was no urgency tonight; indeed, at that moment there was no pleasure for either beyond kissing the other. The familiarity was comforting, knowing precisely when to pause for breath, when to press their tongues hard against each other, when to simply let their mouths brush gently together.</p><p>Eventually, though, neither of them could stand it any longer. James slipped down between her legs. He kissed her vulva through the light cotton of her panties, earning a quiet gasp of delight from her throat. Deftly, he hooked his thumbs into the panties’ waistband and flipped them downward. He sighed, admiring her, ecstatic and overwhelmed to have her open so wetly and pinkly before him, as if it were the first time. He kissed her pussy again, his tongue figure-eighting around her clit in slow, long laps. With his fingertips he spread her labia and licked each part of exposed skin, teasing around her slit, carefully circling her clit. She felt it growing, throbbing like a second heart, all the blood in her body rushing to fill and redden it. He licked the swollen little button gently at first, taking his time, letting her tell him when she was ready for faster, more insistent swipes by increasing the pace of her rocking hips. Her fingers caressed his ears and clutched at the thick sweep of his hair, her wide mouth making involuntary cries as the tension built irreversibly. “Fuck!” The sharp syllable cracked through the air like a lightning bolt, and he plunged two fingers deep inside her at the precise moment her contractions began.</p><p>When at last she fell still and calm again, she beckoned him up to kiss her, trailing her nails along his jaw. One hand went to his chest, fingers tracing the puckered lines of skin that delineated his pecs first. He felt the pressure of her fingers only, the tissue numb to any actual physical perception; it seemed that his healing factor could only do so much for the severed nerves, and he wondered if sensation would ever return.</p><p>“D'you want to know what I’m thinking?” she murmured, lips against his forehead. The warm glow of her psionic power pulsed into his brain, down his body, culminating heavily between his legs.</p><p>She pushed him back and arranged herself on her knees, bunching a pillow under her stomach. <em>Take me hard, make me hurt, make me yours</em>—he heard her voice inside his head, felt it vibrating throughout his entire body.James entered her swiftly and twisted a hand in her hair, yanking her against his hips.</p><p>She worked her clit as he fucked her, both of them wanting the experience to go on and on but at the same time feverish with the urge to reach climax. James came first, groaning in ecstatic abandon, his fingers dug into her skin so hard he left red marks. As his pleasure ebbed, so too did the psionic cock fade.</p><p>Aching, Elizabeth straddled his face and he eagerly buried his mouth against her core, licking her until she was crying his name and bucking her hips against his face. It was supposed to just be sex, she told herself. Just a soothing of physical need. But she was lost in a pleasure she had come to believe no one could give her, wanting it to go on and on and on—and for a wonderfully long moment, completely out of time, it did. As her orgasm burst through her, a new thought came, entirely unbidden and startling.</p><p>She slid down his body like water, utterly wrung out. He kissed the back of her neck as she drew the bedsheet over them and nestled into the circle of his arms.</p><p>
  <em>You belong with me.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tall man with slicked-back hair and chalk-white skin stood in his laboratory, arms folded in concentration. The room glowed with the green liquid that filled several human-sized chambers lining one wall. Three were empty, but one held a suspended body: an unconscious, intubated teenager of androgynous gender.</p><p>“Sinister.”</p><p>The tall man turned, smiled at the svelte, blue-skinned woman who had entered his lab. “Mystique.”</p><p>“I’ve activated remote control of Sabretooth and Omega Red. All’s ready for your word.”</p><p>“Very well.” Sinister returned his gaze to the occupied chamber. “Have you ever feared death, Mystique?”</p><p>Her back straightened. “<em>Nein</em>.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“The world existed long before I existed, and it will continue to do so long after I cease to exist again. Why should I fear nothingness when it was my state of being far longer than sentience has been?”</p><p>Sinister chuckled. “‘Existence precedes essence,’” he quoted. He sat down at a long table covered with flasks, vials, burners, microscopes, and various other instruments. From a small rack he selected a test tube and held it up in the light, squinting at its contents. “I wonder how our friend Creed feels about death.”</p><p>A smile spread Mystique’s vaguely reptilian features. “You never intended to keep your end of the deal, did you?”</p><p>“He’s genetically uninteresting. His usefulness has run its course. It will be a deeply-gratifying pleasure to watch Sabretooth rip his spine from his body.”</p><p>Their laughter filled the lab, echoing off the bio-chambers.</p><p>***</p><p>While James ran out for coffee and donuts, Elizabeth showered. Wrapped in a towel, she sat on the end of the rumpled bed in front of the room’s full length mirror, blow-drying her hair. <em>What the hell is wrong with you?</em> she berated her reflection. She dug through James’ duffel and put on one of his metal band t-shirts, twisting the hem into a knot at the front. <em>It’s just sex,</em> she reminded herself, pulling her hair into a loose bun. She set her makeup bag on the bathroom counter and rummaged through it. <em>Nothing more</em>, she insisted as she rimmed her lids with coal-black eyeliner.</p><p>The late morning sky had turned heavy with low gray clouds, and now they opened up, pouring streams of warm summer rain onto the city. She stood at the hotel room windows, watching the water crash on the pavement, form scattered puddles in the parking lot, run in white-capped rivers through the overwhelmed gutters.</p><p>Behind her, the door clicked open and James came in, soaked through, carrying a dripping plastic bag and soggy drink carrier. “Goddamn,” he said, but he was grinning. “Shitty day to have a motorcycle.” Elizabeth smiled, fetched a towel from the bathroom. It made her heart thrum to see him so cheerful.</p><p>“You look like a drowned cat.” She dropped the towel on his head and scrubbed his hair.</p><p>“You’re the one who insisted on donuts. There was a perfectly good continental breakfast in the lobby.”</p><p>“Rubbery scrambled eggs and burnt coffee? How dare you, sir.” She took the bag from him, immediately opened the box inside and selected a maple glazed donut.</p><p>He handed her a large cup from the carrier. “Cold brew, two pumps mocha, one pump caramel, heavy cream, extra ice. Christ knows how you can metabolize that.”</p><p>“Don’t judge. This is what got me through grad school. What’d you get?”</p><p>He sat down, and propped his wet boots up on the room’s little desk, inhaling the aroma from his cup. “Plain ol’ boring black coffee.”</p><p>She held out the box. “Donut?”</p><p>“Nah. Too sweet. Bacon cheese sandwich. Should be in there somewhere.”</p><p>She tossed him the foil-wrapped parcel from the bag. “Does your healing factor work against high cholesterol?”</p><p>Shrugging, he took a huge bite, gooey cheese dripping down his chin.</p><p>She threw a wadded napkin at him now. “Good lord, were you raised in a barn?”</p><p>They ate quietly for a moment, James looking out the window, watching the rainstorm blow through. Patches of blue sky began to break through the gray.</p><p>“James?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“What next?”</p><p>He looked at her, wiped grease from his lips and fingers. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Are you going to stay on the road?”</p><p>“You came to ask me to come back to Xavier’s, didn’t you?”</p><p>She rolled her coffee cup between her hands meditatively. “I’m not the only one who wants you there.”</p><p>“Funny that you’re the one who came after me.” He looked searchingly in her bright eyes, and only an insistent beeping from her luggage made him turn away. “Is that your mission comm?”</p><p>She nodded. It kept beeping.</p><p>“Are you gonna answer?”</p><p>Cursing Cyclops’ timing, she reluctantly went to her bag and pulled the comm unit out. “Psylocke here, go ahead.”</p><p>Harsh noise clattered through the line, the sounds of screams and sirens in the background. Rogue’s voice, trying to sound calm. “Something seriously fucked up’s happened, Betts. Any chance you’n James can get your butts down here?”</p><p>Elizabeth cast a frantic look at James. He spread his hands. “At least a day’s ride,” he said.</p><p>“We’ll catch a flight,” Elizabeth told Rogue.</p><p>“What about my bi—” Elizabeth waved him silent. He frowned.</p><p>“Roger. I’ll send the Blackbird’s coordinates where we can rendezvous. Rogue out.”</p><p>Elizabeth started gathering her things. “Come on. We gotta move.”</p><p>James stayed put. “I’m not leaving my bike here.”</p><p>“We’ll come back for it.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>Elizabeth spun to face him. “James, our friends need us. They’re in trouble. Don’t you think their lives matter more than a stupid motorcycle?”</p><p>He got to his feet, raising a finger. “One, it’s a 1988 Triumph T140 Bonneville, and it’s pretty much the most important thing in the world to me.” Another finger. “Two, they’re your friends, not mine. They were all too happy to see me go and you know it.”</p><p>“That’s bullshit and <em>you</em> know it. You broke Jean’s heart just because Scott pulled rank on you. And if you don’t consider anyone else your friend, it’s because you’ve never let them get anywhere near enough to prove that they genuinely care about your self-centered, stubborn ass. Is the only reason you’ve connected with Jean and me because you wanted to fuck us?”</p><p>He folded his arms over his chest, stiffening. “No.”</p><p>“Then what?”</p><p>He swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” he said after a long, vibrating moment.</p><p>“You have a choice to make, James. You can stay inside your pain if you want—I get it, it’s familiar there—but you’ll only ever feel angry and alone. Or you can step outside of it to help other people who need you, and realize that your pain doesn’t have to rule you forever.” She stepped close to him, cupped his face. “Two women are in love with you, you idiot, whether you can see it or believe it to be true. You have value. You have weight in peoples’ lives. Don’t lose us just because you’re unable to see your own worth.”</p><p>She tossed the room key card on the table and walked out the door. James stood unmoving, hardly breathing. Finally he muttered “Goddamnit,” and sprinted out the door after her.</p><p>He caught up with her in the parking lot, ordering an Uber on her phone. “Ok,” he said. “Just let me get my stuff. We can leave the bike in the airport lot for now.”</p><p>She grinned and kissed him hard. “Hurry the fuck up, will you.”</p><p>He nodded. “Be right back.” And he hurried back into the hotel, heart juddering, wondering what the hell he was doing but, at the same time, glad he was doing it.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Inside the cloaked Blackbird, Jean retraced the morning in her head, trying to pinpoint the moment things went to shit. They had caught up with Graydon Creed in a sunny, green park, standing on a dais draped with a Friends of Humanity flag, just beginning his oration. A sizable crowd was gathered, and Jean could sense their collective buzz of anxiousness, a jittery excitement that frayed her edges: more than one person was hoping for action beyond just a speech.</p><p>On either side of Creed stood a bodyguard, arms folded, eyes steely but looking above the crowd instead of into it. “They’re mutants,” she had said quietly to Cyclops in disbelief as they approached the park. Rogue and Colossus hung back on the east and west borders respectively, trying to maintain inconspicuousness while assessing the scene.</p><p>“I wonder how his admirers feel about that.”</p><p>“Bigots are never above hypocrisy for their own gain, I suppose.”</p><p>“My friends,” Creed was saying, “the very word ‘mutant’ speaks to their status beneath us. These are sub-human creatures, genetic deviations from the superiority of humanity. They are unfeeling to the needs of humanity. They would just as soon kill a human as look at one. Who among you has lost out on a job, on a mortgage, on healthcare to a mutant taking advantage of the so-called Mutant Rights Act? An act, I’ll remind you, that was intentionally designed to advance the status of mutants <em>ahead</em> of humans, not to promote equality. The MRA wants to see humans squashed beneath the feet of every breathing mutant!”</p><p>“Disgusting,” Jean had whispered. She had looked at Cyclops’ profile. “Are you sure you want to do this here, now?”</p><p>“What better way to undermine his position by cutting his platform short?”</p><p>“It’s super risky. We’re in a small mob of mutant-hating Friends of Humanity supporters. Not to mention those brutes he has on stage with him.”</p><p>Cyclops had squeezed her hand. “I believe in you.”</p><p>Self-doubt had creeped through Jean’s thoughts. Still, at Cyclops’ signal, she had reached into Creed’s mind with hers, effectively pausing it. Creed had frozen mid-sentence, mouth open, eyes glazed. A murmur had rippled through the crowd, trying to figure out if it was part of his rhetoric. The bodyguards didn’t move.</p><p>Jean had given Creed’s brain the command to start walking down the dais steps when suddenly one of the bodyguards—the meaty blonde one—burst forward in action. Snarling, Sabretooth leapt into the crowd, claws shredding through several men closest to the stage. Blood splattered, shrieks and yells erupted, and people began running. Shocked, Jean lost her hold on Creed.</p><p>“What the hell—” Creed started in confusion, and was cut off when Sabretooth lifted him off the ground by his throat.</p><p>“You fucker,” Sabretooth had said in a deep animal growl.</p><p>At the same time, Omega Red’s consciousness snapped back. He came down off the dais, long, coiling tentacles snaking out of his wrists. They wrapped around a man, squeezing like a constrictor as his mutant ability to siphon living energy began to work.</p><p>“That’s enough!” Cyclops’ voice had cut through the wailing crowd and a second later a powerful optic blast hit Omega Red squarely in the chest, causing him to drop the man. “Phoenix, what the hell happened?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” She slapped open her comm unit. “Rogue, Colossus, we need you <em>now!”</em></p><p>The rest of the fight had been a blur. Jean remembered seeing Creed high above Sabretooth’s head, could feel his panic as he clutched frantically at Sabretooth’s hands around his throat. Cyclops continued pelting Omega Red with optic beams, but to no noticeable effect; the mutant was unmovable. In the periphery of her vision, she saw Colossus armor up, the sunlight glinting off the organic steel of his transformed body. He charged Omega Red at the same time Rogue headed for Sabretooth, who was peeling off a glove in preparation to use her powers.</p><p>Colossus and Omega Red met like two trains colliding. Colossus’ punch had sent Omega Red backward in the same instant his coils snapped around Colossus’ neck.</p><p>“Phoenix—?”<br/>“I can’t,” she had answered, knowing what Cyclops was asking of her. “There’s some sort of psionic block in their brains. I’m not strong enough to break one, let alone both.”</p><p>Rogue had reached Sabretooth and flung out a hand, making skin to skin contact with the massive mutant’s arm. The shock of her absorption powers startled him enough to drop Creed; he snarled and whipped around to face Rogue, who had taken in just enough of his superstrength to not be injured when he backhanded her into the dais.</p><p>Sirens had started; some humans who hadn’t fled were throwing rocks at the mutants, shouting.</p><p>“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Jean had said.</p><p>“Not without Creed.” Cyclops had turned away from the wrestling match between Colossus and Omega Red, nailing Sabretooth full force now with a blast that would have broken the back of a normal man.</p><p>Someone in the melee had started a fire in one of the parks’ trashcans, and it was now spreading through the grass. Sabretooth got to his feet, a lion’s roar rumbling out of his chest. Before Cyclops could hit him again, he reached down to where the half-conscious body of Creed lay and without preamble punched his claws into the man’s chest.</p><p>“No!” Cyclops blasted Sabretooth repeatedly, finally making the bloodied, blonde mountain stumble to his knees again. Rogue clambered out of the wreckage of the dais, opening her comm.</p><p>Omega Red had gained the upper hand on Colossus, and hurtled the Russian X-Man like a football across the park into the burning grass.</p><p>Sirens were growing louder, and now there was the sound of gunfire. Omega Red and Sabretooth ran to a black car parked on a side street; they peeled off with a loud squeal, bouncing several members of the human mob off the hood.</p><p>“Now, Cyclops, we have to go <em>now!”</em></p><p>Cyclops had nodded. “Blackbird, immediately!” he shouted at Rogue. He turned and saw Colossus getting to his feet, unharmed by the flames licking his armored body.</p><p>Back in the Blackbird, cloaked in a salt marsh on a spit of land between the Gulf and the panhandle, they waited for Elizabeth and James. Jean and Scott sat in the cockpit, while Rogue and Piotr occupied the cabin.</p><p>“Something made those bodyguards snap,” Jean said.</p><p>“They were waiting for the right moment to attack,” Rogue said.</p><p>“Yes, but I don’t think it was their decision. I made a psionic sweep of the crowd when we arrived; their brain signatures didn’t register until <em>after</em> the attack began and I tried to read them again.”</p><p>“Someone’s been controlling them,” said Scott. “Not just Creed.”</p><p>Jean nodded. “Whatever control Creed had was because whoever those guys really work for wanted him to have it.”</p><p>“What purpose is this?” Piotr asked. “Creed is killed. Riot is happening. Why?”</p><p>Scott sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know. I’m hoping that when Psylocke arrives, she and Phoenix can sweep the area and locate those two mutants.”</p><p>“To what end, Scott? Even if Elizabeth and I can find them, what next? Shouldn’t we return to Xavier’s and regroup?”</p><p>“Jean, we can’t abandon a city with two dangerous mutants like that roaming free.”</p><p>“To be fair, fearless leader,” Rogue said, “we don’t even know if they’re still here. Their base of operations could be a thousand miles away. We don’t know who they work for, or what that person’s agenda is. I’m with Jean. Better to hit home base’n reassess our game plan.” She hooked a thumb over a shoulder to indicate the fires and sirens they’d fled. “Besides, we ain’t exactly gonna be looked at like heroes in a city that’s screaming for mutant blood.”</p><p>Scott sat still for a long moment, thinking. Finally, he nodded. “You’re right. We’ll wait for Elizabeth and James to get here, then return to the X-Mansion. The Professor can use Cerebro to identify those mutants and we can decide on our next course of action from there.”</p><p>Rogue’s comm badge beeped. “Go ahead,” she said, opening the line.</p><p>“It’s us.” Elizabeth’s voice. Scott opened the Blackbird’s hatch, and James and Elizabeth quickly climbed inside. “Is everyone all right?”</p><p>“None of us are worse for wear,” Rogue replied, “though ol’ Graydon can’t say the same.” She began to fill them in.</p><p>James glanced at Jean’s face while Rogue spoke; her eyes met his very briefly, then flicked away, her expression impenetrable. Surreptitiously, two of Elizabeth’s fingers slipped into his palm. Guilt—and something else, though he had no name for it yet—strangled his heart.</p><p>“We agree that the best course of action now is to return to Xavier’s,” Scott said. He fixed his gaze squarely on James. “When we go after these guys, I want everyone available behind me.”</p><p>James, not knowing what to say, curtly nodded his head.</p><p>“Good.” Scott extended a hand toward him. “Welcome back.”</p><p>Elizabeth squeezed his palm encouragingly, and after a moment’s pause, James accepted the shake.</p><p>“All right, crew. Strap in for takeoff,” Scott said, heading for the flight deck.</p><p>“Uh, hey,” James said. “Can we make a quick stop on the way?”</p><p>“This thing can’t fit in a drive-thru, sugar,” Rogue said with a chuckle.</p><p>James cast a pleading glance at Elizabeth. She smiled reassuringly. “Scott, we need to drop in at the Raleigh-Durham airport to pick up something important, please.” She took a seat next to James and buckled in.</p><p>Jean caught his eye for a second as she settled into the copilot seat next to Scott. She quickly turned her face to the windshield, but he heard her voice in his head, clear as day: <em>So you’re back.</em></p><p><em> Jean</em>, he thought, <em>I’m sorry—</em></p><p>
  <em> Forget it. You did what you felt was best.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Maybe I was wrong.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> And Elizabeth?</em>
</p><p>His brain raced in a hundred directions, tying itself in complicated knots. <em>I don’t know</em>.</p><p><em>If you wanted to fuck her, you should have just told me</em>.</p><p><em>Jean</em>—</p><p>But the connection was broken. His thoughts echoed just in his mind, inexpressible and unheard.</p>
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